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Additional comments:/ Commantairas supplimantaires: L'Institut a microfilm*' la maillaur axan^aira qu'il lui a M possibla da sa procurar. Las details da cat •M nplaira qui sont paut-t tiM Dtpwt- ■•■t ol Asricnltnn, (Hum. ' contents. Chapttr I. Pqre The Twenty-firit o»" June , . ' . i n. The Unexpected Happened '5 III. To wl.om \va« she Neceiury \ »9 IV. "It's (or Miss Con«t»-.ce " 4} V. Another June J7 VI. Wilting 7° VH. "Who Are You?" 83 Vlll. For Honor's Sake 96 IX. "Who Was 'Pauline'?" 109 X. " Something's Wrong ! " ill XI. A State of Chaos '35 XII. The Unseen Force '47 XIII. "The Anchor Held" . • '59 XIV. The Leaven Working . • '7» XV. " The Stately Lady " . • '85 XVI. " I-uor Child!" . 198 XVII. Called to Service . xto XVIII. What if ? . aaz m Contents. ClarMr XIX. XX. XXI. XXII. XXIII. XXIV. XXV. XXVI. XXVII. XXVIII. A CHmix , , Opportunity A Loit Opportunity Crown Jewell . A New Burden . The Idol Crushed Economy md Cike A "Neighbor" Nuf«e Witkini . "AtLut" «4« 16 1 »73 a86 198 3«o J»3 JJ6 J48 IT hllLjiJLLUSTRATIONS ' ''''"y "oodikefe at last, togttlur • frentispitet • H^-i^re is Mrs. Curtiss t ' he demanded " Facing //^ gOtHgtO/aiHt'" facing 346 Pauline. I. The Twenty-first of June. WHAT!" said Mr. Curtiss. He looked frowninglyat the letter in his hand, and added presently, 'What can this mean? •■ ^ Nobody answered; he was talking to him- .U. He laid down the letter and went to urnbhng over a pile of others that were evi! Bentlywaumg for attention. Then he stepped '^« Mr rl"*^ '",'"""'■ "'^^ »"d spoke. ^^ hisl;nbg?'''° ^°" know where Henry is Pect?cir,''^r'h-''1-'\'''^f 'y ""'"^ P"«Wng his ered f«r ^" ^°'''''^^''' ""^^ booking bewil- ered for a moment. Then he added: "Oh Mven t you heard ? Why, I believe the word Vt him "^""h-'^'' '""t ^'^^^ We had to hough™ ^%^:,T^rt '^y'^S' '^^ "^^y ougnt. i'oor fellow! he was all broken Pauline, " Ah ! " said Mr. Curtiss, " that is very sad." He waited a moment as if to indicate sympathy, and then went back to his own troubles. " I wonder what he did with the letters of mine that he had ? You don't know of his leaving any word for me.'" he asked. " No, I don't. He had but a few minutes ; he wanted to catch the five-twenty train — was obliged to, in fact, if he went last night. He locked his desk and I am afraid carried the key away with him, after giving me the papers that he said demanded immediate attention. He was so excited, you see, and in such haste. Is it something of importance, Mr. Curtiss ? " " It is a blunder on somebody's part," said Mr. Curtiss, referring again to the offending letter. "I supposed I was booked to lecture before the Deepwater literary association on the twen- tieth and have made all my arrangements to that effect; and this morning comes a letter from their secretary mentioning the twenty-first as the date." " Ah ! " said Mr. Chase, "that is rather awk- ward. And Henry has the correspondence in his hands ? I see. Quite annoying. Still, the secretary of a literary society is likely to be correct, don't you think?" " He ought to be, certainly," said Mr. Cur- tiss, with an attempt at a laugh ; " but so ought I, and I supposed that I was." 2 The Twemy-first of yu„e, ?bout his mother ^vJ^^T^I' """d Worried " the way it happened '"^'""ed to think that standing Lbarffs you? Are"'' '"'^""'^"- for the twenty-first ? " ' y°" engaged ruptaW'^'Tt- Sr"c^°"'- ^^^^^^ ^^e inter- desk and read ?he ,; ^T^' *«"' ^ack to h[s fourth timeTand hun° H "•""' '"^^^ ^°r the and finally ]ean"e?h" ^1^ T^ PfP^' At last he turned to his t^U^ "ranging the prelim naresh^''°"/;,'*"'^' "^^ sort of one-sided ZnZSu^'H ?"°^^'' '''«' Peratmg to a third period " "''' '^ '"^ ">''- ;; sth.s Dr. Potter?" con,p'i:t: th7e"gtgr:„r" ^°h" ^'•='' ^ — twenty-first. J fif?,?!""! ^"'l X^" for the elsewhere." '"" ^ ^m already engaged unrrijar^^^V^ir^r^thl "^^ ^^^^ ^ -- -ade^ by our^^ffirjlcfeTar; '"^ '° "* '"'^^^'^^ J thought I ha3 VafneVm T^ T^^ '"^^d J . "UnVortunatei?^^"''',£°l'"^^"">'-^^ "one that was arranged for m ""g='g^"'ent The mistake in date i! - -^ f J' "^"l^s ago. "ade in our own office."'' '""^ °"^ ^''« ^as Pauline. " I must say ' No ' again. I considered the twenty-first my only free evening, when I pro- posed it to you. Of course the twentieth is now disengaged. Would it be possible for you at this late date to plan for that ? " " I understand. Then the utmost that I can do is to promise to put you first on the winter list, if you care to have me." " I can readily imagine your annoyance. If there were anything I could do, be sure I should be ready. My own embarrassment is extreme. I assure you I am not in the habit of blunder- ing in this manner." As he turned from the telephone, feeling that he had incommoded and annoyed some very influential people and given them a false impression of himself as a business man, he told himself that it was a very disagreeable complication, and that Henry deserved to be discharged. A suggestion had come to him to telegraph to Deepwater and ask if they were sure oftheir dates, but he had abandoned it as absurd. Of course the secretary of a local society would know the evening that had been selected for the closing lecture of the course. He had also thought of telegraphing to Henry, but had remembered that he was twelve miles removed from railroad and telegraphic communication. The situation was undoubtedly annoying. 4 The Twemy. first of June. Charles Gordon CurtU* «f *u i Curtiss. Curtiss & Gord J„ Lj ! JrK^'" "'^ tation to sustain. He was vo„„ . l"' "P"" admitted to the ^"00^ a^S '° 'jf \^ ''"" young to have won distinctTon ' l^ l"" ""^ platform. This htrJr Tf °" ^^^ '"'"« fronounced. UrsptaS'^" ^i ''""^ specialty of his througZth^^Xe ''"" ' In the "itercollegiate debate. r!.fj'°l'"=- , numerous during^ hs career , .^'^ ^"» own college had bein dLZ a '^ ""'^""'' '"'s compIacer!)y to aS veto"'' 'V'^' '"'«='^ name of Charles Go don C^L^'''"*^^^' »''« ld the wise ones. "Here he is twentyight years old and with no thought of marrTiS apparently. Some fine day hi will bring h^ome cai We, and laugh hosts of his finespun theories of the' ""?> I^l g-"dmother used to tS iudle r v''^'' '''•""«« there was in the old judge after his marriage." n,^li?°''1.°" ^""''' '" '"^'■e I'l'^e his own sweet t'em " £" Fir" "^^ -y/.-"dfather among ne has inherited certain sturdy elements no Si/;7 -t ^''v''^ j^'^g"' bLTrhS e: IS sitting quietly without a thourht that anv one IS observing him, there is a loci in hfscyeJ 7 Pauline. (0 like his dear mother's that it brings the tears to my own eyes. I believe he is like her, too, in true nobility of character. Depend upon it, she will be a fortunate woman wno wins that young man's heart ; it is pure gold, I believe, as his mother's was before him.' Mrs. Ellis having no daughters who might be supposed to be ready to win Gordon Cur- tiss's ^eart, could speak her opinion plainly. And she spoke truly ; Mr. Curtiss was like his mother, sweet Cecil Gordon. He had loved her through all the beautiful years that she had spent with him, with a passion that was almost more like that of a lover than a son ; and when siie had faded and gone away, it had seemed to the boy as though this life could have nothing more in the way of happiness for him. Tha.t was when he was barely twenty. At twenty- eight it was his mother's pictured face that he still viTore next his heart, and his mother's tender voice and caressing fingers were what he longed for when he was weary, or out of accord with his world. Mrs. Ellis undoubtedly understood him better than did any other of his acquaint- ances; she had been his mother's friend. The young man clung reverently to that mother's high ideals of manhood and duty and privilege ; he might almost have been said to nave made them his gods and to have fallen down and worshipped them because they were 8 The Twenty^first of June, •cn/w IE; S'rcSrd ^J'thr"" "»'"«• ''« these ideals he w«Kg a £fe d'""5^ °^ point his mother ^ ^" ""« ''•«P- platforms cTr sat eTg^ f^Ts^r n7p'« ::■eJr„^ Botr;sr.t the world that thevrenr "^''y '^''''^^' »nd he attended to^the Uo!? '^ P"'* ''"'' *'^« ''^ firm in like manner h^ engagements of the end of his «?eer M ''°"u'^. ''°°" «»«='> the his heart that he.h^rr"''"'"'' ^e knew in huke on £y wi"'^""^:: "° '^"'•d o^ re- heard from and If""'"'/"' ^^e boy had been When Th. . /"^.'"other was dead. water M. "as st?:d" b ^'"'^ l^ '°' ^-P" platform, wonderiL h ' u^ I" ^'""^' <»» the with theloTaSolTn^K '''°"''* S" ^^^^ -ental criticlm on S Sroa?"'"^ "'S°™"» tJiat made it necessary forT K ''"'"''"g'^'^ents ^'-e,ftoconsumnp;,Lie%Vt Pauline, order to meet tin evening engagement. He had no acquaintances in Oeepwater that he cared to look up, and he told himself that there could be no very marked local attractions in the aristocratic old town, else he should have heard of them. At this point in his rcvery the train halted for a single moment as if reluctant to make such a concession, then hurried on, Mr. Curtiss being the only passenger left behind. A hand- some carriage, crawn by two spirited horses that attracted the newcomer's instant attention, waited at the quiet little station. A gentleman on the platform was watching the receding train with an expression of annoyed surprise. "He hasn't come!" he called out to the people in the carriage, a whole volume of excla- mation points in his tones. A chorus of regrets and questions that nobody could answer greeted the information. " Is there no other train by which he could reach here in time ? " asked the man who was holding the reins. " Not that stops," said the man oij the plat- form. " The five-twenty ought to stop here ; it is an imposition that it doesn't. As soon as I get home I intend to see what can be done about it." Mr. Curtiss regarded him sympathetically. He too felt aggrieved over that five-twenty 10 The rwenty.first of June. train; if it could have \ .i.n .•—4 j Decpwatcr he need „« havVited J? "°P-« d«y. Meantime, where walthe rtl '" ■"" who. as waiting fors^JboSr"^'^ 'He .an just camf- "The''"' i' ' ^'^'^g^'"" fo'-you; nd MrCurths'^diftrme'r ''"'Vi h'm with renewed interest '"'^ '"'^^'^^'^ read his teleRram « H?il u ^"/"'g*^ *'" ''«• from his wheeTSis veS "^ ^" **"" *''™*n his ankle Can't takeT sTn"' "^ ''".^ ''P"''"'^ weeks." Mo?e Ixl^ -^ '" *.' '"" ^^rec sympathy f^m"he"c rS;rcirde°' ^ ' t'''^ from the man who held ?fe rdnt-- " ''"'' share'^rantS^Ht C "' V^'".^ y°- hope that the wind lil I, 1"S.- ^et us v^ith thrLrnd':' htrmetT c'^"^-" If,'I^ ^«g pardon, but is this Mr R,Vk a Kenyon, of Deepwater ? " Richard >^heeSg iZ "a?/'" "'^.- ^''^ g^"''--"-"- g quickJy and regardmg the intruder Pauline, with a look that said as plainly u words, " Who in the world arc you ? " " Then may I hope that you are looking for me? My name is Curtiss — Charles Gordon Curtiss." " The mischief it is ! " It was certainly not the sort of greeting that Charles Gordon Curtiss had expected. More- over, he saw surprise and bewilderment — not to say dismay — on some of the faces in t.ie carriage. " I beg your pardon," said Mr. Kenyon, recovering himself, " but may I ask what hap- pened that you did not appear yesterday, and just what you expect us to do now ? " " Yesterday ! " faltered Mr. Curtiss. '' Yes, certainly. I understand you are the Mr. Curtiss who was engaged to lecture before our literary society? Well, several hundred people filled our little hall to overflowing last evening and waited for you for more thi>n an hour. Not having heard one word from you to the contrary, we had faith to believe that you would appear from the clouds, or some- where, before the evening was over." " But my engagement with you was for the twenty-first," said Mr. Curtiss. " Oh, no, indeed ! I assure you that our little town has been placarded for more than a week announcing you for the twentieth, and 12 The Twenty. fir St of June, writ!cTo;?.^'~''^«''^«>'" you h.d the date 'n reply, Mr. Curtiss drew from ».• ;^«tcr^.nd spread it y^^^ ^"^y^.^^^ .r™ngeLiU'r?„t'°o"r^ r '''« «" ture before us on ?he twenty fir,, •°' ''''''' '"- •--^ainand:«^,T-":re:;Lr■.^^" iine?;nffKredtr'' "*P''^'^ -*" 't-^ »rd L. Kenw- tSen ^"^'"^"""'•^"Rich- his lips that he'usS onl ."'=''""«"on "caped excitement. "* ""'^ '" '""'""ts of keen " Great Scott ' " you really ?"^"Sirls^I°''''''r"'y-''^'''? D^d put the W. on the 'T ''"'^ "'«• R'«=»> bursts of laughter from .T'"'^:^''' ' " Out- voices all trying to ^^J^" """""g^' «">V°"''* '=^«='- an attendant at her wedd „f - s'^" ^""''''' glad that Mr. Hallam's ankf. "•"" ^^ just the right momen?" ' ^^ 'P^'^^d at Porter who tTwinS" ""^ '^°'" A'- »bout the mantel cltnf '?^S\h°' t^T'^' Kenyon is at her wedding rt " ^["''"d other man present, r for fL." '"'^ ''^ "<> ««. and if will no";g /fejf i;.'" ex,st- When I marry, if that wnfiT^ u^PP'"«s- come, I do hop; 1 shai, h., ^'^ ^''?"ld ever fm as Nettie is^ of Rich I ' ^°"'' "'^ '''^ ^'"c- such a state of mind i; tme'V^T"'"^ "'^ affnethatitmustbehorrfHl^' ' ' ^''" ''"- Who had the couraVeTn I T'"^ '^'"'o« it- Gordon to offick?e '^- '''' ''^^ g^^« Charles else wo^ld W S "'"' °f ^u°""^ '^ "°t'°dy of such a thTng, ^£,^7"'^''.'''^^^''°"^'^^ summoned Ri J' to he idel"nH ^°"^^"« -^'icMr. Tudor^r^^g-lK-dit. Pauline. explain the blunder to Mr. Curtiss, and the rest of us were in a bubble of fun over it all. We teased Rich unmercifully about being able to think of no date but the twenty-first. He was real nice though, as usual, and caught at Constance's idea in a minute, as he always does, and said just the right things to Mr. Curtiss. Wouldn't It be nice if Rich and Nettie were going to housekeeping and could have Con- stance live with them and take care of them ? Dear me! I should almost be willing to get married myself if I could have Constance Kenyon come and live with me ; that would make ideal work of housekeeping ; and she is just wasted in this house that Mrs. Kenyon cares for so beautifully." It was in ways like these that the gay bridal party tried to plan out Constance's future for her. But that which they with one accord agreed would have been " nice " was not to be Richard and Nettie" did not go to house- keeping. When Richard Kenyon had used every hour of his month's vacation in bridal touring he b/ought his wife back to his old home, and they occupied together the rooms that had been his since his boyhood. Refur- nished they had been, and made beautiful with bridal gifts, but they were the same old rooms with some of the boy Richard's treasures in them still. Alice Porter, who had known l8 rhe Unexpected Happened. that he was a.triedl '""^htt if if ' ^^^"« for Nett e whn „,,„ i ' ' " " were not window Sit Tocot^^ ^''^^'"g »' the would surely be in dan^l Tf '^' >'"'^' '^^ But that all potent «"f''heW^^'"'"Sj'- was always on the watch tft^^^^' ■ ^«''«^ always at ^he door f^ l'-' ''°"''"g' ''"d Richard Kenvonh//°u'"'" '"'" ^ and Mr. increasing^Satt^^^rSt^^^^^^^^ married man Arr,„„ i "*' "^ was a was his ^.n^Sant^^^^tS !} fece^asTut-aSr °'? ^^ ^'--i the same age she had ''"'? '^"^^^^ f™™ house to stfy A,f,Hr'"".;"f° ^s father's deprived t£^ie^e"cotrc "Si 'r^''^'^ onJy sister's only child offi ^enyon's grandmother in a'sSgll' hour nV?''''''' ?."** Kenyon's heart and hnm u" ^ "^"""^ ^^• ceive her, anSfrom that h '^^'^ °P«"^d to re- had grown UD t^e^h "■" '^" ^"'^ «i<:hard Plays'and"p,7ns"aff ;;;3u°ts^"an?'^ """^'^ J" '"any ways so much ahke th 't Tn ,r"""^,> years, strangers mistook th.mf •^"' ^"^'" twins they were or at W "^ '"""'■ ^"'^ to all inteLs and pu Isef ^^th*" ''"'^ ^'"n' t'me, Constance's vefy name Lh T'^^ ""J --ryofa,lbuta^fer^CrSa'nce°Si„t ^9 Pauline. Stuart was the fall name ; -but there was no one left of the name of Stuart to keep its memory fresh ; and in speaking of them it was so much easier to say, " Constance and Richard Kenyon," instead of "Constance Stuart and Richard Kenyon," that the girl's last name, without definite intention on the part of any, presently disappeared from Deepwater circles. At preparatory schools and afterward at col- lege a select few knew Constance as "Miss Stuart." But Richard was at college in the same town, and so evidently had his cousin in charge and so evidently did they depend upon each other for all the offices generally rendered by brother and sister, that it was only the few who kne>y of them in any other relation. Long before this period, Constance had ceased to feel any surprise when formal letters and notes came for her addressed to Miss Kenyon. It was after both had graduated from their respective colleges and were at home again as « Constance and Richard Kenyon," that the first great change since babyhood swept over their lives. « Mamma Kenyon," as Constance m her childhood had fallen into the habit of callmg her, instead of always using the more formal name "Aunt Rebecca" — "Mamma Kenyon" suddenly, unexpectedly, dropped out of her busy effective life and went away to heaven. 20 ne Unexpected Happened. have been more Stunned M s Z„'°"''^ "" one of those efficient .-if "; ^^"yon was cheery won,e„ w^'sho drothe"^' P"'^^' burdens tenderly, and seen, ^„ T' P'^P^^'" their own, and whom ^l J ''''*'«' "one of can wear out and sl^aZ V""'/" ^'^'"'^ sons in the neighborLod could'st f '" P^''" so everybody Felt. Not Dr ^ ' ^ ' t?""'^ ' the successful and alwavsn? T^?" ''""«'^. would have been Se J''°!i''%^P''y'""''" homes than warhr^r •'''' ^'i*"" "''^^Y helper. As for the votlX"^K w "-hearted home of which she Jas i, "^"^ ^^^l '" '^^ wnte? Those who lave felt T'' "''\^'"'" bereavement neerf n„ • '"^ wrench of those who havrnotTearnTbv""'^-' '""'^ ^- story cannot be told in w"ol >^ ^''P^"«ce, the it is a question whether r„no^ more sorely bereaved th,„ '^°""^nce was not self The youngl,;''!";",*'" Richard him- tenderly, a„^ he mourned h '''^ *"' '"°^''«' was a man amongmeJ InH ?'^""'''5^= ''"* ^ to sustain in the S ^n^ ''^ """"'^ P^'ce Interests to absorb hi: whlleV"""'" ""'^''^^ •fen the daughter in the I? ^^""stance had Pauline. be done, the wise, sweet aunt had taken her into partnership, saying often, « Shall we " do thus and so? instead of "Do you" this or that. It was such training, in part, that helped Constance, after the first days of stunning be- reavement had been lived through, to rise to the thought that she had still a partnership to sustain, with one of the partners gone on ahead to the other home. She must fill her own place bravely and faithfully, and she must do more; she must try each day to make the vacancy left by that other less painfully glarine It was a hard task. A girl of twenty migf t well falter and stand at times appalled before Its magnitude. That she wrought loyally and bravely not only Dr. Kenyon himself and Kichard, who leaned upon Constance almost as he had upon his mother, realized, but out- siders looking on with sympathetic interest said frequently one to another that " Constance Kenyon was really a wonderful girl ; that she had taken up Mrs. Kenyon's work not only at home, but outside, among the poorer patients, and everywhere indeed in a manner that was simply marvellous for one so young." And Deepwater was sure to add that if Constance should marry and go away from them they really did not know what would become of either the doctor or Richard. No such appall- 22 ini "the Unexpected Happened, would be like V torn" '?""'^»hat Richard man as he would long escane fhl i • '^""m^ of some woman's heaft V^L • i"'!!'^ '°'^' have him escaoe th.^ ? d- u .'"'^"'^ *°"W dear " Pn,,, v ,? , ^^^ "•"« came. But S b»y'S 5X"; ■ S"" '■J" '" >••' life b^" "9 '7 Pauline, hti" ?"'".''°'?« «'«"ons u they had always been, but in the natural order of thin« M« Richard-whoeverand wherever shefas now liTve he"r ^kT "^ ^^ -^ them iould as a wife should, and she, Constance would »o!7» [ " **"" •''""'1 mother who had gone to heaven could possibly expect of her This was Constance Kenyon's unspoken vow She did not tell herself in 'words that she woS never marry and leave him; nor even mar y and stay with him if that were ever posSble'^ ;tr T^ 'fr ^''^ "?°"ght of marrSgi^Sr f; fo/itt'Sc&'f "•= ^' P'^""^'^ --'«^% R;i'"l*^" ;7 '!"= unexpected happened Not D^enwl "' ^'■- ^^^"y°" took to himself a wife Deepwater was astonished when it heard £ news, but not more so than for a rime tJe won,an/ho could b^oj^s llin rer;^Hr b^e^lreXte^d^ST -rry; he td hp. hnA ■ 1 y """vea to do any such th htr • attend ?he mS ^''^ ®?"' '° Cheltonham to the nr. ^f- ^'^"^ conference because he was / to oe tnere. He had gone to Deacon 24 Tht Unexpected Happened, Annie Wallace, the widow „fn" ^^^ i"« ^w- •on who was spenS „rth. '?"" ^»"««'» ^ther-i„-law's faSJv ^TW *'"'". *"'' ^er D/-- Kcnyon knew Li Jvdv'lh"":'^- "" '''« when he discovered C"n~.' "; J"« Wallace was necessary to his han '"" °/ ^""'« not have told. When hi ^Pl""' ''« ~"ld o« midnight in front of L"o '""?l'"" ''°*" and stared at the c^^l j ? °'^" '''''ary fire »>'» h«rt th" posi ?^L"s"'of'?h?7 ""'^-'^ was an astonished aSS be^i^^J^^^^y. he he was a man of action m'* """"• »"' settled it with himsel that^hlT"" *""• ^^ o do with a feeling tha" had .""'"^ ''»'' than he set about shaoina .k ''°'"^ *° '"ay. events to his mind Zhf uch' t^n"" °'' ^"^« that before Deepwater Kh f n '""" ''"'^ *=elenty 'ts amazement oCr Te trll""'' 'T^"^^ fr°" he brought home h L bHH. 7 •'^ engagement. mistressV his houi 'no'"!'"'''''^^^ *>" «» turbance of anv .„« ' '"^''^ was no dis- departure tL f ^"""^""^d with this new Richard kenvon 'T', °"" '"'ght scan his handsome £e wasted ."'''^y Pleased" " gay and free as ever He"'^.-,1 ""f ^'^ """iJe the elm-lined avenue :h«M%"'" "^^^^^^ down with his arm linked. \} '^'^ *" the gateway whenever they 5 ^ Jd to be" ">^-'" "^^'^'^^X y .need to be gomg out at the Pauline. •tme time. People, looking on, said it wu wonderful that Richard bore the innovation so well. Constance, they said, was only a niece, which was very different from being a daughter; she had no right to feel aggrieved; but as for Richard, — really it was hardly to be expected that a son would accept the new order of things so easily. Yet people were entirely right in their aston- ished conclusion that no one felt aggrieved. This is to be no repetition of the constantly told tale of domestic infelicities connected witn the coming of a new mother into the home. If either Richard or Constance had felt per- sonally wronged by the doctor's second mar- riage, both had sufficient self-respect to keep such thoughts quite to themselves; but in point of fact they did not feel it. The new member of the family was genial and winsome in all her ways. She was, moreover, a well- educated, thoroughly well-inform"d woman, and before many days had passed the young people said frankly to each other that she was a decided acquisition to their family circle; and Constance in the privacy of her own room' assured herself that nothing could have been more natural and reasonable than that a middle- aged man like her uncle should have felt the need of more congenial companionship than ever so estimable a niece or even daughter 26 The Unexpected Happened, ~"''^ I"'"'"'' : o*" course he too knew th.f Richard woud be likely to n,arrv before very long. She did not allow hersel/ ^n 1 7 as adn.it that behind thfs 3 "x; anS atXted2?aiS'""'^^"""S'^-^^h:; Kthe^F^h.^" ''°""8 people grew closer to- gether. ,f that were possible, after che doctor his leisure They rode more than they had and took longer drives and walks now that' there was no danger of the doctor appwrinJ suddenly m need of some ministrationTo finf lire sure that the doctor would have nis cm he 1°' "^^rr ^'' '"'^ ''^' »=' the case mith? be. looked after carefully before he starte^^n some unexpected night drive \Ta ita°"; ,;"rts ^^' ' it "houid' e trtS ^ea of Richard's marriage slipped away from Constance's mmd. or lingered in so dim a'^back g'rrtedto? 'uKX^''^ '' ^-^ -'l" grow used to It. If she had thought about if 'east like the old hours when Constance and 27 Pauline. her "heart-mother," as she had sometimes called her aunt, had been together ; she would not have had them the same, but they were very pleasant, and were without friction ot" any sort. Where their tastes did not accord, each was sufficiently indifferent to the other, in an entirely good-hearted way, to make it a matter of small importance that they differed. It was easy to drop the point of difference and glide into some line in which they could agree. Constance never said, " Mamma Kenyon," and never, never, in confidential and tender moments whispered the sacred word " mother," as she had been wont to do in the old life ; but she said "Aunt Annie" simply and naturally, and was quite reconciled to the fact of the lady's presence. Then, almost as suddenly as before, came another radical change in the home life. 28 I III. To whom was she Necessary? IT came to pass that Mrs. Herbert Wallace chose Deepwater as her summer home because her sister-in-law had married Dr. Kenyon and gone there to live ; at least, that was a link in the chain of circumstances that brought about the removal. And Mrs. Her- bert Wallace had brought with her to Deep- water her pretty young daughter, Nettie. Now Nettie was one of those free-hearted genial girls who make accjuaintances readily, and who feel m SIX weeks' time that they have always lived in the atmosphere which then surrounds them. She had not been in Deepwater much longer than that, when the young people were calling her " Nettie Wallace " and feeling that no gather- ings were complete without her presence. And then, suddenly, it dawned, first upon Constance perhaps, after Richard himself, that no place in this wide world was to be complete, or even tolerable to Richard Kenyon hereafter' that did not include Nettie Wallace. It will have to be confessed that, despite all her pre- 29 .; J Pauline. '< ' #' vious preparation, there had been a strange tightening of the cords about Constance Ken- yon's heart when she made this discovery. And when it grew upon her that Nettie Wal- lace was of like mind, and that she must evi- dently teach herself to say " Richard and Nettie," a feeling of desolation such as she had never before experienced took possession of her. " He is just the same as my brother," she told herself, " the only brother I ever had, and he has not gone to heaven, but I have lost him. It will be very different after this for- ever and ever." She rallied, of course, from this woe-begone frame of mind. She had, or she thought she had, a strong spirit, that would not allow her to brood over her own trials or disappointments to the discomfort of others. True, she had never, since she was old enough to realize it, been very sorely tried, but here, too, she thought she had. Richard Kenyon had never discovered her pain. He had found in his cousin a most sympathetic and efficient helper in all the plans that had to do with his changed life. It was she who gave the casting votes about carpets and curtains that were to be a surprise for the bride, and it was she who followed the painters and paperers and upholsterers with unwearied 3° To whom was she Necessary? feet and quick-seeing eyes that would tolerate no blemishes. It was Constance also who aided and abetted her aunt in making the wedding reception all that it should or could be, and who rejoiced with her heartily in the prospect of welcoming her own and well-beloved niece to her heart and home as a daughter-in-law. It was even Constance's quick-wittedness that had given to the wedding the eclat of having Charles Gordon Curtiss for one of the attendants. In short, Constance Kenyon, throughout the nerve-trying weeks that pre- ceded the wedding ceremonies, earned again the right to be called a blessing to her uncle's family. "I don't feel sure that there would have been any wedding but for you," Richard had said to her in a burst of gratitude, when he was making his farewells after the ceremony, " because, you see, without you it would have' been impossible for us to get ready. Nettie feels the same; she says you helped her as much as you did the rest of us, though she did live at the other end of the town." "I think you would have married Nettie," Constance had said with a sisterly smile and a careful putting down of a belligerent lock of hair on Richard's head as she spoke, "with- out regard to the wedding clothes or cards or 31 Pauline. decorations; and she would not have cared extremely whether there were any weddine breakfast or not, so that the minister came, and the all-important words were spoken that gave her to you." And Richard, with a happy laugh and a warm pressure of the hand for his sister-cousin, had answered : — " I guess that is about the truth, bless her ' It isn t wedding fineries and furbelows that she is thinking of. You would have been just such a bride as that yourself, Constance, if you had ever married. But I wonder where the man would have been found who was worthy of you ? " ' Constance had laughed merrily. The idea that under any conditions in life she could be like little Nettie Wallace could not but have Its amusing side ; then in the solitude of her own room she thought of it all again and smiled, a quiet smile that had in it a touch o* pain. "If you had married," Richard had said; they all spoke in such ways of her. How sure they seemed to be that marriage and home and close special ties were not for her ! Probably they were right; she had taken such a position tor herself years ago; but that was when she had thought herself necessary to her uncle; and attcr his marriage there had always been Rich- 32 To whom was she Necessary? ard to think about; now -to whom was she necessary ? air, and told herself not to begin at twenty- five to be seht.mental. It was necessary at hat moment that she should go down and see It Kate had given fresh water to the flowers in Kichard s rooms, and left no touch of her pres- ence anywhere about. But the thought, or the pain connected with the thought, recurred again and agam ; grew upon her, indeed, as the weeks and months passed. The bride and groom returned and took possession of their beautiful rooms, and the new lite in the old home commenced and ran its daily round of sunshine and satisfaction. What could be more delightful than the existing con- ditions? All Deepwater was sounding%heir praises. It was "so nice " in Richard Kenyon " to choose for a wife his stepmother's own pet niece who had been almost a daughter to her And they had such good times together, father and son and mother and daughter. Dr Ken- yon had seemed to grow young since his mar- riage; peopie had said one day when thev met him and Richard down town together, that the hvo could pass for brothers instead of fether and son. So Deepwater talked, and en- joyed to the utmost the round of receptions and dinners and evening parties that were in- 33 Pauline. I 'I ihcy were so much interested in the promi- ?o ,!l[°"K°'^'r ^"''y *''" "><=y almost 'forgot to talk about Constance Kenyon; but occwifn- ratLrTr"" ?"''*: "Poor'co'nstance 2 Is a oi V L .^^ T'^^' ^""''^ '''I'l = "I^ i" almost mS ried '• ^^' '''? turned out. that she never t£e„ty-lve ^'' ^°"'"'"'=^ ^»^ ""'X She stood before a window of her own room looking out upon the dreary view. The grand old trees that were her joy in summer had b^en stripped entn-ely of their'cLhing. a"?the1ove J ter h^^"" T'^"'^ "^ '''""kei of leaves That summer was over; so Tndeed was autumn the lovely part of ,t. Cold winds and drearT^a ns and snows must be expected now, at leasTat TcTns^af ' • "^ '"°"^^- '^'"=y seemidtng to Constance in prospective. She had neve? before thought of^the winter in this way Eve„ went tn h°"' '^f'" dear " Mamma Lnyo„ " went to heaven, they had made the rooms cheery, and toasted the doctor's slippers before heti J'' \f ''°P''* ""'^ P'-^y^d thai hs office bell would not ring ; and until it rang Richard had read aloud to him from the evedt pane' and she had played his favorite muKrS 34 I To whom was she Necessary? and sung an old song or two Th-- i. the iacvftablc bell calfed hi7away th^hL" £T„.''"" ^'''^''''' ^'^'' -ho S aloud 2 in TeH 'r"*'^*'"g '"«'er than could be found ^ctner, often of old times and tender m^^,). This autumn everything was chanfreH „„» s" i^ t'^ ^'r °'''=" '^ '°' h^rstrtowT ?nd sIipper7;ar;eSg^r il^ rS:T" jng to make believe thai he did n77tjct Z inexorab e office hell tr. ^,ii u- expect the into the night'aSd the storm "" f^^'^^^y -^' reading bits to him from T* •" ^^'^^^ ^"^ »d ^„« /.f™ it-wS eras 35 Pauline, 1 1 u\ it was enough that she _. always welcome- Genill ""k"'"'* '° ^' uncomfortably mTsS." misanthropic vcm in her wholesome nature But on this gloomy November evening an u„: deniable sense of loneliness amountinl almost to desolation had possession of her. She had been hurt just a little that day. It had occurred of late several times that Richard and Nettie and often the elder Mrs. Kenyon. had receivS frie„r''"rr^ callers who w'ere her per 3 fnends, and had quite forgotten to summon her fLrn "■ ;^""'- ^' ^'^ "<=^'='- intentional ttrfceh'aTSer ^^"^''"^ ^"^""-'^ "Where were you?" Richard would ask when she entered the room soon after ?he guests had departed. « Why didn't you come down to see the Wilsons .? You used tHe very fond of Callie Wilson." The„ when Constance would explain that she h^d not r^^^l 7 u TT'"^' '■'"^ ^""''l be excla- mat ons from both her aunt and Nettie « So to'SfV" ••''' v' *''^,y,°"ght to have sent Kate to call her. Yet a like experience would per- haps occur on the following day. Thev simolv mother and daughter, had not yet grown used nrivS: ^l^t' °^^t"g'"g *° 'h« «-•"« home, privileged to spend their lives together; it was 36 To whom was she Necessary? all so fresh a pleasure that they gave them selves up to its enjoyment and^C S K- , As a rule this did not troSb le heJ^ her a'ndT'' '^""''' "''° ^'^'^ directly S; her, and there were many others whom she saw because she was as a matter ofTou«e iTthef °? °^ '^' ^^'""y P'^'-'y- She dS n« Zh? '^u '?y '" ''" °*" "'O'" waitings fc^; s .ghts ; she knew that nobody intended to nours like the one on this November evening when her loneliness pressed upon her wh?„' the very fact that the passing Lr by was «„ mtent^nal emphasized^o hfr the k'no^ edge' that she was very much alone in the world, and of specin) interest to nobody living. It can rr ^f f '''"''"*• ^ ^''°"''i 'hini for any won^an to have a realizing sense of such \ Z Most women are not only very necessary to tt^ iFtoTe;-' •=°'"'°" °^ '°- °-' ^S noS*"""!!" u""^ '""y ^'^ I'"" that after- noon, and the sense of being left out was stronger upon her than ever before T Tad come to pass that the young man. Charles Gor don Curtiss, who had so unexpectedly made one of the wedding party, had nSt droTped his new acquaintances as soon as the immediate festivities were over. Instead, he had TeTmed 37 Pauline. to make a special effort to establish friendly relations; coming to Deepwater on two or three occasions for the sole purpose, apparently, of paying his respects to the bride and hw fnends, and accepting with heartiness sundry invitations that could have been declined with- out discourtesy. At all these functions it had seemed natural, as Constance had been the one at the wedding to whom Mr. Curtiss's attentions were due that h.- ^nould continue to look after her inter- ests, whenever there was occasion. She had by no means been unwilling to have this dis- tinction; on the contrary, she had frankly admitted to herself that Mr. Curtiss was a better talker and in many respects a pleasanter companion than any young man, except Rich- ard, that she had ever known. It is possible that there had been moments when in her heart she did not except even Richard. Be that as It may, when it came to pass one even- ing that Mr. Curtiss came to Dr. Kenyon's without invitation of any sort, simply to make an informal call, and spent an hour with them m the library quite as a friend of the family, and Constance, who had retired to her room to write letters, had not been summoned to enjoy the visit, simply because nobody thought of it she had certainly been more tried than on any previous occasion of the kind. And this verv 38 ^ To whom VMS she Necessary? afternoon, it being known to both the other ladies of the household that Constance wu only in the linen closet attending to the mark- ing of some linen, precisely the same thing had occurred. Mr. Curtiss had called and remained until just as she was descending the stairs, her duty done. She had caught a glimpse of him as he went down the elm-lined walk, and had stepped to the window to make sure that her eyes did not deceive her. At that moment he had glanced back and recognized her. He had halted and almost turned as if to retrace his steps, then had seemed to change his mind and content himself with a low bow. Con- stance had watched him auite down to the gate, then had moved slowly from the window with a disappointment at her heart that was unusual over the loss of an afternoon call. In the library, Mrs. Richard was adjusting the blinds to her liking; she glanced around on Constance's entrance to say: " Why, Connie dear, where have you been ? You missed Mr. Curtiss ; if you were like any other girl in the world that would be quite a tnal. I think he is a delightful talker. Have you been for a walk .' "Oh, I remember; so you did go to the hnen closet, you dear girl ! and we selfish peo- ple forgot all about it and thought you were out walking. Wasn't it too bad f" This last 39 Pauline. •ddrcsted to the aunt, who at that moment entered the room. " \ *'ould hi've known that she was not out If 1 had thouffht about it at all," said that lady serenely. «« \ am going to own at once that I was simply heedless. Constance, dear, it is very absurd m us to forget to send for you. I think you will have to adopt the fashion of staying downstairs during calling hours until Nettie and I recover our common sense. If Mr. Curtiss, by the way, had had sense enoueh to ask for you, we should have been reminded of our duty. On other like occasions Constance had made haste to say that it was of no consequence: but this time she said nothing at all, and went soon afterwards to her room, where she stood looking out upon the dead leaves and the rain. 5>he told herself that it was the weather that made her feel so depressed and so easily dis- turbed. It would have been the same, of course, if ,t had been Dr. Dennis instead of Mr. Curtiss who had called; only Dr. Dennis, I aV u ^'^"'^ *"'* P*"^''' wou'd have asked for her especially, and so reminded the others of their duty, and Mr. Curtiss had not. He had asked for "the ladies," so much she had learned incidentally of Kate, and of course he considered her included. Did he think, she wondered, that for some reason she had chosen 40 To whom was she Necessary? not to tee him ? This wa$ the third time she had fiiiied in meeting him when he had called. Why had he looked back that afternoon and hesitated as if inclined to retrace his steps ? What must he have thought of her gazing out of the window after him? Her face burned at this remembrance, then she smiled at her inconsistency. If Mr. Curtiss supposed that she did not care enough for his acquaintance to be willing to receive his calls, he surely would not imagine her to be stealthily watch- ing his movements from a hall window ! But it was certainly trying; and she was very lonely. She hesitated for a word and was almost tempted to say miserable ; but laughed wholesomely at this folly, and realized that she had no right to be miserable. Nevertheless she permitted herself to consider gravely the question of a possible change of some sort, for a while at least. They were sufficient to and happy in themselves, those four who consti- tuted the family now, and they ought to be. What she had overheard one of the Deepwater matrons say was undoubtedly true: that she was only Dr. Kenyon's niece, and that it was very different from being his daughter. If she could leave them to themselves for a few months, it might be better in every way. Pos- sibly they would learn to miss her, though her sterling good sense told her that she was not 41 Pauline. an important fector in the home any more. Mrs. Kenyon was a practical housekeeper and enjoyed her work; and Nettie liked nothing better dunng her hours of leisure while her husband was at the bank, than following her aunt and mother-in-law about, supplementing her work She had taken to doing quite as i matter of course .certain pleasant household tMks that It had fallen to Constance to look after ever smce she was a schoolgirl. Oh, no she was not needed any more at home. ' 42 IV. " It's for Miss Constance." YET where could she go? She had friends of course whom she could visit ; invitations were frequent and pressing ; but she shrank from such an idea. It was one thing to arrange and plan, and wrench herself away from home for a few days* visit, conscious that she must make her stay short and hurry back to fill a void, and quite another to pack her trunks for long visits to her friends, because she was not needed at home. If she had money of her own, she might travel; Richard had once planned delightful journeys for her and with her, to be taken dur- ing his vacations, but all that of course was over. She had not so much as a penny of her very own, but she had never before felt this to be a trial. Dr. Kenyon was wealthy and liberal and had never allowed her to feel her dependence for a moment. Since she was a girl of fifteen she had received an allowance each month amply sufficient for all her little wants or fancies; for the rest, her shopping was 43 Pauline. charged as a matter of course in the monthly accounts, and she had no occasion to think of them. Neither was there occasion now. No one begrudsed her her allowance, nor her free- dom as a daughter of the house. There was plenty for them all, and neither Mrs. Kenyon senior nor Mrs. Richard belonged to the class of women who thmk of money in such connec- tion. No one begrudged Constance Stuart anything, or thought of her other than kindly and affectionately. Yet because she was Con- stance Stuart and not Constance Kenyon after all, she could not keep herself at all times from thinking thoughts that troubled her. Why had she not one friend in this old town where she had spent her life ? A friend so near and dear that to be with her and do for her, to read and dnve and visit with her, something as she had done with Auntie in the lone aeo. would be joy enough for any life.? O^.Thc tI ^^?^^^ ^^ fri'nds, but not one Friend. There had been times when she had thought of making one of Nettie, but there was nothing to be put into words. Nettie was a dear eirf as bright and sweet as she could be, and was in every way worthy of the love that Richard lavished upon her, but she was not and could never be such an one as Constance meant when she used that word "Friend" in the isolated sense. 44 " Ifs for Miss Constance.^* The twilight deepened, and the street lamps were lighted and flared out, intensifying the gloom, and the rain fell steadily out of the leaden sky. The very sound of it against her window increased her sense of dreariness so much that presently she felt the roll of a tear down her cheek. This startled her a little. Why should she have tears to shed? They should be kept for real woes. "I am very silly," she said aloud, "and growing sentimental in my old age ! I might much better light the gas and brush my hair and go downstairs with the others; that is where I belong, and that is where they think I belong. I am not going to learn to gloom and sulk because I haven't everything. 'Count your mercies. Miss Connie,' dear old Grandma Coulter used to say when I went with Auntie to carry her soup and tea; ' Count your mercies. Miss Connie; you have enough of 'em to keep you busy.' And I'm sure I nave." There came a knock at her door that she recognized and answered without turning from the window. " Yes ; what is it, Kate .' " "A note for you. Miss Constance; the boy is waiting for the answer." There was nothing startling in either of these statements. Constance s girls, as the members of her Bible class were called, were 45 Pauline. continually arriving at perplexing periods in their lives and sending eager or pitiful petitions to their guiding star for advice or assistance. There were eleven of them, and they filled many of her leisure hours and fairiy satisfied the part of her nature which they touched. 'Very well," she said to Kate; "you need* not wait; I will write the reply and bring it down with me. I suppose tea is just ready, is It not? ' She waited to brush her hair and arrange to her hking the lace about her neck before she opened her note. It read thus : " My DEAR Friend : I am about to do something that is extremely unconventional, but 1 find myself acting under an impulse that refuses to b-. set aside. I called at your uncle's house this afternoon in the hope of meeting you; It IS the third time within a few weeks that I have made a like eflfort and failed. This may have been mere accident, but I am also aware that it may have been design. I have resolved to ask you frankly which it is. I am in town of necessity to-night until the ten- fifty train. May I spend the evening with you and tell you something that I have an earnest desire vou should know, or would you prefer not to hear it ? If you have discovered from my manner the strong desire that I have for a 46 ^^ It's for Miss Constancer closer acquaintance with you, and if my failure to meet you is because of a kind effort on your part to save me unnecessary pain, will you write at the bottom of this page these four words, "There is no reply," ancf return it to mc by the messenger? If, on the other hand, you have not thought about me at all, and this note seems to you to come from a mild lunatic, will you not grant me one hour of your time this evening, — or if that is not feasible, will you mention a day and hour when I may hope to call upon you and find you disengaged ? " Very sincerely, "Charles Gordon Curtiss," The messenger was waiting and the tea bell was nnring; there was no time for even a careful choice of words. Constance thrust the note into her pocket, turned hurriedly to her desk, her cheeks the color of the roses that failed her room with their breath, and wrote without hesitation : — " My dear Mr. Curtiss : I am sorry to have missed your calls. I shall be at home this evening and shall be glad to have a visit from you." Then she went down to the waiting supper. I don't understand how you keep so fi>esh 47 Pauline. « color," said Mrs. Richard, letting her eyes linger in admiration on the flushed fece. « Here you have been housed all day just as we have and you look as though yo/ Adjust uken a' ''"«'t"»i'F °f a miJe or 'two! dok at he? cheeks, Richard, and her eyes ! » f^r^in'^K^^T'" ?'*'' '^'"'"'^ ^a^l^^d a mile or t^o m this beastly weather," said Richard. It is going to be a horrid night ; people who venture out this evening wilfshiw^hat they have important errands. I hope no one 2\ fether!" ^"P^^'t^'y ill «nd send for you, mother'*."/"''"" '■'' P'*^='" ""'d I'i" step- mother. "As surely as we set our heaths upon an evenine of leisure for your father he •s called out before he has time \o JtZZCn- ably seated. Haven't you noticed it ? " TK. ' »u" !"'?"'''? P™^'^'^ »" exception, rhey gathered in tKe library after tea. M« Kenyon and Mrs. Richard with ther laS making, and Constance with her sewing an" her nervousness, -and her indignation with herselffor being nervous. "" wim her'Lr,^"''^ * ''"'' .schoolgirl anticipating her first advent into society," she told herself «provi„gly; "it surely is^not so unusUdfor me to have callers that I should start at every sound hke a simpleton." ^ Nevertheless she did just that. There were ''It's for Miss Constancer wmplioitions this time, it seemed to her What if Kate, having of late been in the haWt 1 tZ^- V"- ^Yt' *° *•'«= HbraV, should do so (o-meht, and he should have to make h,H *f"^7''7'-d for him. inasmuch as he aL'A'^''^^ "P^"' ""^ ^°^' ^«h them? Also would It be treating him quite as he tw'ncieT \Th *° "^r K*° •"= '""'^ "»ft" tnat note? Yet how could she go to Kate and was to be shown to the parlor, and only she was to be summoned ? ^ " th,^""K!"'' L^''''\''' "^^ »Io»d in a book that ought to have held the attention of them «sl"£^r'**"« '=°"''' "«^«^ afterward rS rail so much as a sentence in it. At interval »^L"lY P'^"'"'^/" ''^'•'1 ^ discussion ovt some statement of the author; this wasfn accordance with a pleasant family custom bi" Constance, bemg appealed to for her oSioS a glow oTh°"t°l^ ^'J'g^'^ '° confS 3 ■ S ?h "" " admiration, tKat she had not heard ^h' ^K ^P'' ""''"'■ '^°»«deration. She the 1,5" •'"' ''°'"""''' ""'^ «° did they all! the reader interrupted himself to indulge n some severe criticisms of the interrupter and to congratulate his father that at least i^ w« ndt the office bell; his wife said tt suSy coS 49 Pauline. not be callers on so stormy an evening. " Just hear the rain ! " she said. It was supposed that all were rehcved when the intruder proved to be only a messenger with a belated packaee. Mrs. Kenyon said it was a shame to keep the boys hurrying about on such nights as these. Kainy-day purchasers ought to have their pack- ages marked "unimportant" when they could, so that discrimination might be used in deliver- ing them. In the midst of the merry argument which this proposed innovation provoked, the bell sounded arain. This time Kate brought her tray and Richard groaned and his wife 8«hed when they saw that it held a card. But Kate went straight to Constance. "It's for Miss Constanccj" she said firmly; and that young woman arose in a flurry that she fencied was noticeable, and followed Kate in silence from the room. In her confusion she left the card on the library table. Richard reached for it with the remark: "I wonder who has ventured out in this storm? Con- stance s girls do not indulge in calling cards, do they.? Why, it is Curtiss again ! That's queer, isn't it?" " Oh ! " said his wife, eagerly, « I hope he has come to invite Constance to hear the ora- torio. I was anxious to have her go; she cmoys fine music so thoroughly, and since that Miss Brainard asked to go in our care, I was 5° ^^Ifs for Miss Constance'* afraid Constance might think it awicward for you to have charge of three ladles. By the way, Richard, we shall not have to wait for the two o'clock train after all ; a special has been arranged for, to leave at eleven, or at the close of the concert. The Bakers were in this after- noon and told us about it. Isn't that nice? I do hope Mr. Curtiss has come for that; probably he thought of it after he was here this afternoon, and resolved to see about it this evening. He can't get any train, you know, until the ten-fifty." But Mr. Curtiss had not come to make arrangements for the oratorio ; he had not so much as remembered that there was to be one of exceptional worth on the following week, lover of music though he was. He knew upon just what errand he had come, and had given to its doing some of the most earnest thmking of his life. In the months that followed, when Con- stance took time to think of it, she could not but be amused over the person of consequence that she had suddenly become, not alone m her own home circle, but with Deepwater people generally. They had known always that she was "as good as gold," and they were very fond of her. They had often talked about what a valuable person she would be in the community when she should become middle 5' Pauline. aged, and should have dropped naturally and pleasantly away from the occupations and enMgemcnts that belong to youth. Then, without cares and responsibilities of her own she would have pleasant leisure for the duties and burdens of others; and they weighed down her shoulders, prospectively, with work that would be sure to be ready for heart and hands, so soon as the swift passing years should mark her definitely as among those for whom youth IS past. ' And then, behold, without even the prepa- ration that good-natured conjecture and gossip give. It became known that Constance Kenyon had not only declined to become that useful and respected member of society, a refined, cultured, large-hearted old maid, but was to marry, of all persons in the world, who but Charles Gordon Curtiss himself! .. 7^^ Kcnyons and the Stuarts had been first families" for generations back, yet Deepwater had not aspired to have such honor come tr them, as that the names belondng peculiarly to them should be linked with the Gordons and Curtisses of Philadelphia. Yet be It known that they all with one accord, in afternoon and evening sessions assembled, affirmed that it was "just the thing ! " If Gor- don Curtiss had searched the world over he could not have found a more suitable mate 52 ^^ It's for Miss Constancer for hinwelf in every way than Constance Ken- yon. The wonder was that no one had ever thought of ,t before. ConsUnce had seemed «o .ndiftrent to the society of other than her cousm Richard, all through the years when g;irl8 are supposed to be thinking about mar- na«e, that, some way, they had filien into the habit of fancymg that she was not like other girls, and meant never to marry. Then came to the front a maiden lady of good heart and a passion for prophesying, to affirm that she had thought of it. When Con- stance Kenvon and Gordon Curtiss walked down the aisle together that night after Richard's weddine, she had said to herself: "What a fine-iooking couple they make, to be sure! if they had been getting married themselves, they could not look more appropriate." Mrs. Richard heard of many of these good- natured and altogether kindly bits of fossip « she went to and fro, and spread them out l^T' fV'^'hr'^* °'" ^'''^^"sy Constance, who laughed and blushed and commended the prophetess for her marvellous discernment, and was more than willing that the dear old ladies and younger ladies of Deepwater should ^et what pleasure they could out of a discus- sion of her affairs. She was too happy herself in those days not to have her heart brimfol ot desire for the happiness of all the world 53 Pauline. OccMionally ,he .topped before that win 3^rv°N ^'^ 'S'^'' •'•r^'d looked on Z dreary November evening, when the branches of the trees were bare ancf the dead leav™ ^cre Th.f 1 I u ''''."'nc grl who looked then in wordQ ■ .K. i: A \ r . "^'^ "°t ""1 this iL u. ' L H "ot definitely thought these thoughts; but it was because she haTs teS refused them admission when they "Jme ore / ie?ce th Tt"^' ^=' ^'^ theVrC sTtender an^d X ' t°'"'u''"'l "^«'' ""d Jo^c before tL strong that she almost trembled betorc the power of ,t, as she asked herself why Tw^Tht shT f'r ""'' '''-'^fu'nesi' sho^ulirso JlesJ. • °'''" "°'"^" '" ^'^^ --•'l' da«''fn^!hi'!'** « •"* J°y °'; ^'^'^ during those days, in the consciousness that her humfn love 54 «//*/ for Miss Constance:* had brought her closer to the divine. She had been a member of the church since away back in childhood. She had vivid remembrance of the day when Dr. Dennis with his hand on her head had said : " Little girl, you love Jesus, do you not ? " Unhesitatingly had come her reply, " Yes, sir." And then, with his kindly hand still resting on her head, he had told her what uniting with the church meant, and how the bread and wine commemorated the love of Jesus for her ; and, " did she want to come with the others, next Sabbath, when they stood up in the church and promised to love and serve Jesus?" Of course she did ; her heart felt full of love for all the world ; and her dearest friend Nellie Eastman was to join the church — why should not she? It meant more than that. Her aunt had trained her carefully, and she was as fully ready for church membership as any child of nine could be expected to be. She had united v/ith the visible church that next Sabbath, and all Deepwater would have witnessed that she had adorned her pro- fession through the years. Yet Constance Kenyon had vaguely felt at times that her religion ought to be mor>. to her than it was. It had made her conscientious and faithful in all her known duties, and was, she believed, the mainspring around which her life circled. Still, she was dimly conscious that there were SS Pauline. people who had more than she. It was the s„°? /'''{' "« P""^''ege. that held her. Sometimes she told herselT that probably as she grew old, the joy of a religious life would be hers; that when people were young and the world was bright, perhaos duty was all that they were expected to f^el. And then, sud- denly, even Aer religious life seemed to be illumined. When the flood of new joy swept HrH^^'u'"",'' ^'^^/"ognized, or thought sfe did, the hand of the loving Christ in opening heaven on earth for her, and her soul bowed before Him in an ecstasy of grateful love. She gave herself anew and joyfully to His service, and assured her heart that it was blessed to be His servant, and that she realized the sweet- ness of It as she had not before. 56 V. Another yune. THROUGHOUT his twenty-eight years of life, Mr. Curtiss had been noted for his wisdom. If the nurse who held him in her arms when his eyes first saw the light, and who clung to him in worshipful affection still, was to be believed, he had been exceptionally wise from the very first. As a young man not only had this state of things continued, but, what is per- haps rarer, he had been exceptionally patient with the follies of others. For insunce, in his secret heart he had believed that most of the young men of his intimate acquaintance, dur- mg the months that intervened between their engagement and their marriage, had been very foolish indeed. Often had he assured himself that if he should ever reach such a period in his life's story — and without definite resolu- tion in that direction, he still believed that he never should — one thing was certain ; he would preserve his common sense, and show to lookers-on that marriage was merely an -. 57 Pauline, inddent in , busy and important life, and not at all an absorbing force that must needs uke precedence of otHer interests heretofore con- sidered first. Let it be admitted just here that when at twen y-e.eht or a few months past that age, Charles Gordon Curtiss found himself unle^ engagement of marriage, he had many things to learn with regard to his own heart. At first It astonished him that he could Thl^ ^"•'°"' *'»''. "natter with the calmness that had characterized him on other impor- tant occM.ons It almost bewildered him that ife r.*^ ^^^^ '■''•"l?'y "" incident" in his 1 fe but pushed Itself to the front and in- sisted upon being thought about. In short. Mr. Curtiss had done what some of his friends had prophesied that he would h^ri°V • ''*='"^ suddenly and utterly; but he had lost It to the one woman in the world whom It would have been possible for him to many. This at least was what he believed. He knew now that on that day when he 8t«KKl waiting on the railway platform at Deep- water, and Kad turned quickly at the souTd of a voice, that he had looked upon the fkce of the woman who had been created and cared for in order that she might become his wife. thrin^f '{"'^"l'^ ?* *''•' '"°'"«^'" that the thriU of soul which her voice gave him had 58 Another yune. been caused by its likeness to his mother's; but very soon he had become aware that, although Constance Kenyon, not only in eyes «nd speech, but in certain subtle, indescrib- able, though distinctly felt ways, was very like that precious memory of his, there were other and more potent reasons why his soul should have been instantly drawn to her soul; they had been created each for the other; and God, who watches over human lives, had kept them apart and sacred in their loneliness until the hour when they should recognize their oneness. He believed this and yielded to the joy of it, and was as absorbed and as far from wise as any man of his acquaintance had ever been in like circumstances. • One way in which his energy spent itself was in pressing for a speedy marriage. Why should they wait ? he argued. Constance, like himself, was fatherless and motherless; there were no close home ties to be rearranged carefully lest loving hearts somewhere should feel left out. There was a sense in which they were both alone in the world. He, with his hosts of friends, was far more alone than was Constance ; and his home, the ancestral home of the Curtiss &mily, was waiting for its queen. There was no good reason why they snould spend years or even months apart getting 59 Pauline, to think rtf „ .»• . ^ "^"^ breath awav ^-^tonJ^yjlt^^'V ^'^'^'^S on savaeelv that of.:; '^ 'V*^''^'"'' "''ded almost them at Lrnf'^T T''^^ ^°'- ^'''^ ^ rob as a oart of h ■ *! " '^"^ ^'^'^ '°oked upon "decS hasta'bSuTft "S°"^ ^/'"^ '" '^'^^ tears dimming sfitlv her h'- 1'^^"'' *'^'= had kissed clnSCThe'S:-^"*^ ^^'^^^ indeed. I wTn'ted'v^' ^ Tk^''^'^ ^?' y°"' ^ «•» - li.e RXrl-Tha^JeXfoAn^ 60 Another yune. sacredness of it all for your very own ; but there is a hard part to it, you know. We love you so dearly, and to Richard you have been all his life more than an ordinary sister ; and it will never be again with us just as it has been, don't you see ? " Yes, Constance saw, and she kissed her and called her a dear little sister whom she should always love just the same, and did not reveal then, nor afterwards, how " different " life had been for her of late, nor how utterly desolate the first part of that November evening was. They had loved her dearly all the time and she knew it, but she liked to think that things would never be again just as they had been. Overcome in one direction, Mr. Curtiss set his wits to work on another plan, and here he also firmly set his will. Since the ridiculous con- ventionalities of life of which he had always more or less disapproved would not admit of a Christ- mas wedding for them, why, then, they would choose a historic date, even the twenty-first of June, just a year from the date of their first meeting. That surely would give ample time for the elaborate making ready that those least concerned seemed always to think so important ; and for himself, he should not yield another hour. A little later he gained twenty-four hours on this date. For a man who considered him- self not in the least romantic, his reasons for 6l Pauline. i \k^^ this change were peculiar! He had decideH J.at he would like^best to be marred o"1Se date that he ought to have appeared in Deep! June. This would enable him to carry out a fancy that he had for bringing his bride'^to he! new home on the twenty-first _ precisely, to an heard h". " ^'" ^™!? '^^ ^''^ °" ^^ich L fiS heard her voice and saw her face. Mrs. Ken- yon heartily approved of the change fo quite another reason: she discovered that^the tie^^! first of June fell that year on Friday ^ You wouldn't be married on Friday, of course! she said, with marked emphasfs on the name of the day. ^ "Why not?" was Constance's composed question; and Mr. Curtiss went off ifto a W of laughter over Mrs. Kenyon's evlSn! chl^*"^!."^" r^''^' '"y ^^^' '^hild, no one chooses Friday for a wedding day. I never heard of such a thing; did you, Nettie? Oh" of^course you must change the day, you really Cnll '^°"'- •''■"''•^ ^^^"^ *"y objection," said Constance, joining in Mr. Curtiss's laugh; "but I haven t any scruples against Friday^ Have you, Gordon ? Because if you have, perhaps vj^ ought not to go to the Luse on'tfat day Will not that be dreadfiil, too, Aunt Annie ?" 63 Another yune. "Well," said Mrs. Kenyon, "I don't call myself superstitious, and yet I confess that I would a little rather, if I were you, see my new home for the first time on some other day of the week. However, that is for you two to settle, of course ; but Friday will certainly rxver do for a wedding day. I can see just how queer it would look on the invitations. It was all amusing to Mr. Curtiss, who had forgotten that there were people who cared exceedingly about the names of the days, but he was duly grateful to Mrs. Kenyon for help- ing him to carry his point, and Thursday, June twentieth, was finally the elect day. " They are the most unconventional couple that ever breathed," Mrs. Kenyon explained to Richard ; " they will really have to be watched lest they do something ridiculous before it is over. Fancy their being married on Friday, for instance! If there had not been some other reason for a change of date I don't believe either of them would .have cared about that. Then their plans for the wedding trip are so queer. If he cannot get away until some time in July, why don't tney wait until then to be married ? But no, he must take Constance to her new home on the twenty-first day of June, no matter what happens. And then, after she has her servants in hand and everything in such shape that it will be hard 63. Pauline, fcr ''" ^a}^^^'>'' P^P""' to »curry her off fora wcddmg tnp! It ukcs . man^to pljf I must say. I suppose he likes the ideS S bcmg supcnor to custom. Though, as a rule grandfathers and great-grandfathm did before m.Ji'^iSj"'*'^^''*"""*"'*'* *" talked over a s^nc. 1 '" ""^ '^'"y°" ^»'"% when Con! Stance was not present. The keincst interS 5?^ kIV"""^"^' was evinced concernb^ ! Mra. Kenyon admitted that she thought it was « her absurd m Mr. Curtiss to kefp eve^ thmg connected w th it hidden in a^ort^f mystery. It was all very well for him to sur- prise Constance if he chose; that w« natuS S rST*'*' ''H'''"^'"^«d that RichS herself and Nettie, one would suppose, might not only be told all about the place. buT?„- Itj^ "th' -ggestions with fegard to the cftanges. They might reasonably fe supposed to understand Consunce's tastes better ?fan a man who only a year ago had never set evej upon her; but Gordon «emed to think tS anvtr T'^.'^'^T ^'' '''« minute than did of man^ t^A^A "'^ *°'''''- "<= was the sort of man who did not care much for advice she ■dmired him very much indeed, but she could 64 Another yune. not rise above a little feeling of pique some- times in not being made the important factor in all these affairs that Mr. Curtiss could have made her had he chosen to do so. She was correct in her belief that he did not feel the need of advice. Nevertheless his reti- cence was caused by habit and not by design. Had he realized what a pleasure it would have been to Mrs. Kenyon and Mrs. Richard to have been shown through the fine old place that was to be Constance's home, he would have taken pleasure in exhibiting it to them ; but Constance must not set eyes even upon the grand old trees until her name was Con- stance Curtiss. He knew just the tree under which he meant to place her on that fair day, June twenty-first, while he went a little dis- tance away, and looked over at her and said to himself: " There is once more a Mrs. Curtiss. The old home so long desolate has a mistress again ; that is she, and she is my wife ! " He had never explained even to Constance about that old tree where she was to stand. It was little wonder that Mr. Curtiss enjoyed renewing and beautifying his old home. Had Mrs. Kenyon known how beautiful it was, she would have excused him from asking advice concerning it. Dr. Kenyon's house was of substantial brick, and was set in the centre of an ample square of lawn and shade on one of the - 65 Pauline. plmantest streets in Deepwater B„.»». n tiss homestead was «ii«™. J? j u ■ *"" dur- ing «cre, laid oTin Tov.^ "'^ ^l '""'" ""t^h- ol3 trees and vdmy 'Zt ^A^' t?' «™"'^ conservatory wJi^«. »,1 lY "'' '"^'"e was a ™Ae «iiininer alj thi v£, . 5 Jf'P"" •» ft^8.»»do„.„rcUut,'SC^t^"S ing lawns where the Sh s a„H \*i^' "'"«'=''- entrancing beauty Afrll^ u'"^*'' '"X i" was sure wouTd £ve« f?^"'-*''"J^'- ^urtiss Constance was a ^ f?^'""'"" of its own for merrily on' iTswa/thS"? ^'^^ '^^' ^^^^^^ estate, losing it3 nT^A °"'. P?"'"" "^ '^e that, while^apDaLr '"'* *^'" '" "''"'''''"y its Jweet wiffP wS^wlTer"^ 'T^^^ '° cultiyation ' " y" ""'!*='• highest fJ^o/V^^°5/:; *^™«™ .nd «^^^ »ion,"as it was c^uTl' l .^""^ss Man- 00 "^ Another June. in that city of homes. And CohsUncc knew almost nothing about it! * It was one of Mr. Curtiss's pleasures in an- .cipanon to introduce her unawares to a "this lovehne., of nature when he knew thaTshe was bravely making her little sacrifice, and prepw! mg to hve among the stone pavements a^nTthe massive brick and stone blocks of the averaw fcm^r"-- Jt" '^^"y°"' -^^» «» more 3 from n '""' '^^t'l •'"* f°«y ™il« removed cSv M ^""^ ••'L^"' '•'"'• •^'•"'"d'' 'hither had chiefly to do with down-town life, and not one of them save the doctor himself, who never entered mto details, had seen 'the °cS There was little to be done to get the care- fully preserved house ready for ?» mistre,, yet that little took all o/its Lner^lc ure hours, and helped to make the winter a„d LZ^' l^ *" * busy- spring for him in the office.; his successes during tfe win- Tnlt CT^ heen confined to the fecture pUt'form aslCr' ''^ ''""■" ''"'^ -sponSS the':tt;^i'dry^r;u„T"ustst^"°°" ''^ rfrg'jhat he roLd {Tp^orCt" o' uke"th« last look at his perfected home which h^ hiJ planned should i taken Se"S^„V-i^ 67 Pauline. future mist^u to it. He looked at his w.*c», he had been in too much haste to wait for fh* led through the pleasantcst part of the city _ The lawns on either side of the tree lin-^ .venue leading to the house lolked ^nuslllj ovely ,n the Tow June sunlight, but he paiJd them with swift step and a s^ii; on his FaTat the thought of how difficult it would be to draw Constance away from such charms as those to give attention to a mere house rJLlT'^' "P'1 '*'"''" *''™"g'' most of the rooms, h.s complacence increasing with ever^ step. Mrs. Reefer, the housekeeper, who had been housemaid for his mother, had be^n faith ful to every detail. There was nothing iS to regret and there seemed to be nothing to wish for. It had suited his fancy not to fdmit his retjnue of tramed service toi;he house asTccu- fude b"u;r '"'««'"'„ '''d ''-" n in its soli - htwt-woudTve'ZS'5XH'° '''■"'^ '^^ inddent to the .oPfVy^L^ngSXpS Two of those whom he had secured had be«. Oo Another yune. treasures to his mother; for the others, Mrs. Reefer had been train bv that same dear mother, and knew whon, < > ensv '<• md how to train them. Consta'c.^ •, ,uk< h . absolute authority in her hove, buf uo m-c 'hat any forethought of his i , . d ward t i* I 69 ■(-; I'll hi ti^ VI. rn W'aiting. «on/Z he lent ,^;/?"»h h.rc i„ di,„. 70 Waiting. work in which the needle was set for another stitch. He smiled at the thought of what Con- stance would say when her eye fell upon that It was Constance's own, a small white bit that she had been working on one evening when he came unexpectedly. During her momentary absence from the room he had carefully pock- eted it with a view to the unfinished workbasket. It would look so very homelike, he thought, lying there waiting for her, that he had not been able to resist the temptation. It had cost him some minutes of guilty silence while he helped search for the work that had so unac- countably gone astray ; but other members of the family had come and gone in the meantime, and it was finally decided that the article must have been carried away with some of Nettie's " things." Naturally it had never been found, and they had wondered over it, and it had cost time and trouble to match the material. He had himself undertaken this task, and sent to the bewildered Constance another yard or two of the white, delicate stuff that, it appeared, was being manufactured into a sleeve. He had been properly ashamed of himself for causing all this trouble and delay, and had also been secretly glad every time he thought of the unfinished sleeve lying in the waiting basket. It all looked charming to him that evening, with the departing rays of the sun glinting the 71 I Pauline. needle Constance's needle, and touching al«» hf; .h^.^'^u^''"" '.'"P" ^°*'"-'l 'Reassurance . that the thimble would fit. On the dayTfter ' mXr\'^'''u "'^y «°od here beside his , ITtll "u' •!." *°"'*1 *^" Constance how he had brought the gold thimble to his motheT I am jkiAg stitlr^V ou7a:d\l^^^^^^^^^^ me that it has taken love stitches for you all its l.fe and must always be kept for such^ervice " They were little matters, perhaps about which to weave memory and sentim^e^t tha sewing-chair and the sceLed-wood b"sk 't and eached t T\ *"r '^^ .*''™'''^' ^^^ 'hey reached to Gordon Curtiss's inmost heart Close enough to the sewing-chair to reach Ub e^n'Thl T"*- \ ^'^ "^ -»» ---od mnlh " nl.^^y *'"'^°*' ''"d on it lay his s'etfit H^°PT" ^' ^'^ »'-" "-d to B^hlA ?u '"°*''^'' *** "'^"ys drawing her w s'^stuTv^l'^^T^^H ^/?"" " ^ --« ^l^^? 'he was studying. Did Constance have such a tt k' \' "°"'^^^'='*- "^ did not know he n snS ^'^'^ "'"''^ ' ^he was very like his mo'ther KhleTh"*^-. ^''^*°"''l 'ike to have this Bible when she knew its story ; thev would use It together, he and Constance.' ' He "had i:!,^ 72 Waiting. been so constarit a Bible reader as his mother had wished, yet no one certainly could respect the book and the habit of reading it more than did he. He reached for it, and opened to a verse that had a memory. His mother had read it aloud one day while her hand toyed with the thick locks of his hair ; he had come in tired with some special work, and had dropped on his knees beside her and laid his head in her lap, after a fashion of his childhood. She had read the verse twice with slow, impressive emphasis : — " As for me and my house we will serve the Lord." " That is a good resolution, Gordon," she had said, "the best one I believe that a young man can make. • My son will take it for his life motto, and his mother's heart will ' rejoice." She had a way of making statements con- cernmg his future in a tone of sweet positive- ness, as though not asking for a promise so much as speaking a prophecy. It leemed to him this June evening as a benediction. His house ! he was about to establish it, a home. " As for me and my house we will serve the Lord." He said the words aloud with slow and solemn emphasis, and it was almost to him as though his mother was there and he was responding to her prophecy. He was not - 73 Pauline. 1 1 prayca. He bent his knees at this time h«.;,i- fi.s n^ther's chair, and spoke ^^i^Z^^. rjy *l**"'^"\'''" house afresh to my mother's God; I ask that within its walls we may b^ kept from word or deed that shall dishonoJ Him; and that we may be able to live our mo?h:r^"'?h"r "^""'^^ '""^ '''^'" -'"/ -7 mother. The last touch of sunlight for that day rested on his mother's picture that occu Pfed ar easel near at hand. It lighted up her' Pjctured face with what seemed fo the/oune sne lived. He bent and kissed the face his eyes dimming wth tears as he did so. 'bu they were grateful tears. His mother's prayer had been answered for him; God had bee„ very gocKi; it seemed eminently fitting tha" h^meTo GoH^'m"'^ rededicate'his mither" hiWlf r ^'y' '"°'"^' ^'^« ^^ should give Jood Th Ta '"■■' °f ''^«- Constance was good. They had not talked much together on such themes but he knew that she Hd to his mother s fa.th. He had been with her in the ^d church at Deepwater one Sunday du^g a h~d"Te Tr- ^'f. ^'^ ^yes'shadedV nis hand he had watched her as she took the bread and the cup, and her face had seemed 74 Waiting, to him as the face of an angel. It was certain that they two could make of this home that which would satisfy his mother ; he had never quite satisfied her while she was here. God was good to let him atone for it now. He had never m his life been so deeply moved. He went out of the room softly, as though there were a Presence there that must not be dis- turbed. He even looked back, when he had reached the door, to say aloud, "When I come again I will bring Constance with me." He had a feeling that his mother heard. The twentieth day of June came and went • and during its hours that ceremony repeated so many times since it took place in Eden that we may be justified in calling it old, yet which to the new lives deeply concerned in it is forever new, and fresh as the flowers that compose their marriage bell, took place once more. Deepwater was at its best, and Mrs. Kenyon and Mrs. Richard had been equal to the occa- sion. Dr. Kenyon's handsome home had never looked more beautiful than it did that day in Its bndal array. No pains nor expense were spared n giving to Constance all the honors that could have been showered upon a beloved daughter; and the hundreds of quests who moved about the brilliantly lighted grounds i^reed that there had never been a more elegant bnde nor a finer-looking bridegroom. " I have 7S 11 in all mawlr, ? ^ "' ^^° *»* «" authority world. «"« rXttr? ''^ ^'i'^ ^»'''''°" "w^ night- she L • f ^ "^^ °"*^'«d herself to- hefp ;hSing\r^LS:S^- k' ^°"''' "« into her new homl u- l ^'^ "'''= *°"'d fit Isn-t it delicTous 7h;tle h", ''''"°" P'''^'''"- place and hasn't an dea of?. T" '"f " ''"' told me she presumed S. 1 l ''^f "^^ • ^he lawn and these tre^! TW^^ ^^°^^^ '"'''"' 'h^ has miles of lawn whil Jh °^."i ^"'^ ^l^" were Judge ^stp i t^Xf 'f 'V"^^ hke to be an invisihi.. ,,.- •'^^' ^ should is introduces to alf ^TT^ t'^^ ^'^= ''"^e in the Curtiss°LtVva;';itn°V^ 'T fi'r;^eSs*- ^^^-^-.iheThat' inf?rSrL™i;:itr:eL"' 'J"'^"^ ''^ °f It rejoiced heart";?„ Cons "e K "^ "' ^°"S"^- spective grandeur'^ She w"s a De!."^°" ' P^T to all intents and purpores eve^ .r'T ^J"' was not born there • shTh.H' u''°^.?'' ^he far among them She .„M 'P'^"' ''^'"''f^ ^hus 76 W^aiting. not forget that no better blood than that of the Kenyons and Stuarts flowed in the veins of human being But, that point being conceded, there was no harm in feeling proud that such names. had become allied with the honored ones of Gordon and Curtiss. Deepwater tclt that mutual pride was the order of the day. No fairer evening was ever granted to a bridal pair than that twentieth of June that made Constance Kenyon Stuart and Charles Gordon Curtiss one " until death did them part " • and as the lookers-on watched the carriages contain- ing the bridal party roll out of sight they felt themselves justified in believing that no youne couple ever began life together with fairer prospects of happiness. Mrs. Gordon Curtiss, as she sat next morn- ing in the room at the hotel which had been her husband s home during the later years of his bachelor ife, went over in pleasant memory all the details of her recent experience, and agreed with the verdict that as fair a morning had come to her as is granted to mortals thi! side of heaven. She was alone in the room, and when she presently reached the place in her thoughts where she was willing to give detailed attention to immediate surroundings, she looked curiously about her to learn what manner of place it was that had been home- to 77 'I Pau/ine. delibiiate survey ^Th"^ "f*" *" take a not a ;,.j,„e • a'i .l^^^ belonged to a hotel and fi>I -..le?VveT'the conts7 ''• "^ «''''^' ?"'" such as she could make for V ' r""' ^""e •nan who had been Ji^L . u"" *°"^'* ''^ to a weary years Ah '^'^''?,".''ome ties for eight ^^rdrnV^^denlV^f" ^Shf ""'K' ^'^ the window with this h!.' u **'"' ^ack to of it eagerly she i-^^'''"''^ ^°°'^«^d out ThistweVfi^sttyof'ju'nTh""^ '° '^^-■ possession of their hn.^c "^ r "^ **=■■* *o take would be exactly a yea 'in/" T°'J^' ^°^^ « husband's faceVnd^ Tea d V "' "'"" ''^•• Curtiss had planned ft, . l^"' ''°"=«- M^. struck the hour at ,£ "'''"" '^^ "^^ <^'ock doors of his fine' oil h P'"''u"'^ moment the open to we ie f- n"'"' '•''^"^'^ ^«= thrown had discovered ht%"h3"li«irr •"'" -'"'^ ""nute details was \r, A P'*" '" »" >ts heart that she h d Jfed h° ''^^ ''"^''^"'^■^ asked no questions abou the C ^- ""T '^ ''"'^ was holding herself in reafcSoT P''"'- ''"^ ^^-^hteatchag,i:;;:.tc&ro;^ .78 lA^^'' , Waiting. reaching his rooms the night before, he had found waiting for him a mcslage that had taEn h.m to h.s business office fmmediatelyafte? leaving his wife alone so soon, and had said that he would on no account do so were „"t the occasion imperative, and the errand of such a nature that it could be done only in person It was connected with the tiresoL ifwsSt tha had made it impossible for him to leave town LT^'}^^ " '^y'' "''«"«• He thought that he had planned to have this day free how ever and had foreseen all possible eSndeT but ,t seemed that he was mistaken. Sf "eve ' ^ZT, '^%'^^ ^'*'» ^'- Aleck Gordon or even with Mr. Chase would be all that wm neccssa " hour" cL1'"'"k^"','^ to return within t7e' nour. Constance had laughed at his anxietie, •bout leaving her alone fir even so short a„ absence, and liad begged him to remember that nto;nb.f''"V^'.^^''''"'' ^-^ been trusted m town before; had even been allowed to come ail the way alone and take care of herself a! ^LTft "°^' ^ '""•''y '" the least. KevS mind If his books had all been sent to Se 79 Pauline. tw7i^ri'f r "^ ' '«'■ °f "lirf wh" the woman looked frail and t Sd - the JrH^ woman who seems to need protectfon Sh. wondered to which of the manHtSms of «fr surging by this one belonged Site h! frayed dress and shabby fTnv^t tins Xr! an mdefinable somethin'g thf mSced K Constance's eyes as having belonged at lea« It some timr to the better cfass of Liety The at ntZ T^''"S'y ^"'^^°"'«- Even tt sl2 attention Constance had eiven him h,^ ^ 80 Waiting. one with the dangerous gift of beauty to add to his temptations. She was letting her thoughts hover about this sombre picture while she kept her eyes upon the crossing with inner senses and outward vision alert for one form and face Then there came a up at her door, and the pleasant-faced chambermaid entered, A very attentive chambermaid was Dilsey. Mrs Cur tiss did not know it, but just before her husband went away that morning he had slipped a gen- erous piece of silver into Dilsey's hand and lold her that he depended upon her to see that his wife was well cared for during his absence. She bore a twisted bit of paper on a tray and waited respectfully while Constance read. I kept the boy, ma'am," she volunteered. woS*back " "^ y°" '"'8''' *""' to send " No," said Constance, "thank you, there is no reply. The girl caught the tone of dJi- appointmcnt m which she spoke; but immSi- ately the lady smued as she realized how brieht her sky must be when so small a disappoint- ment had power to cloud it. The twisted paper held a messajje from her husband that read thus : — " My Darling : I am the victim of a great -1 am tempted to say trial, I presume it >s only a disappointment. I find that compli- MICtOCOPY RESOIUTION TKT CH*»T (ANSI and ISO TEST CHART No. 2) ^ -APPLIED IN/HGE In ^^ 1653 Eosl tJhm Streel S^ Rochesler, Neo York 14609 USA ■■^S (716) 482 - 0300 - Phore ^= (?16) 288-5989 - Fa« Pauline. '^^sett r^^'f'^ ^-g«'d to that critical Tr^ll ?f '^"="'»"'l."jy personal attention for a matter of two, possibly three, hours. There .re points about the case understood at present only by myself; and unexpected develoLJnIs arv Ke';"'""'^ ''^°J'^"^ ^-"^^ -^^S- ^ILk % \ ^% °^^' ^^^"^ ^'th the other Can ^?H°^ "'•'/'■'"• ""^ -"^ke them clear Can my dear wife wait patiently for me even though I should be detained for th^ee W tt?rh J^'l !;'" ^' ^""y *-° hours pstEf 1 know It, dear, and am more tried than I can express on paper. You may be sure that I our home on tfie twenty-first, anyway. I an, n^'^^^r^ ,• ?^ "" "Pecial favor of you ' I am no doubt foolish, but f remember vou toW me you were not familiar with the part' of °he «ty where my hotel is situated - wLt I ask iS will not°d"n;t thl tTre'ctty '^" '"'' &2 VII. " fTho Are You f " OVER this bit of solicitude Constance laughed an amused laugh ; yet it was also a pleased one, and in her heart was a grateful glow. She who for years had been the family errand girl, trusted to make her way about the city whither she would; trusted to take care of herself in all weathers and at almost all hours, was henceforth to be guarded as something so precious that she S'liLI r" "'"' °"' ''°"' ^y '^''y'-g'^^' The pretty chambermaid, who had lingered, despite. the word she had received, to fee if there were not something she could do to help the wife of so liberal a man as Mr. Curtiss heard the sweet laugh, saw the happy look in the wife s eyes as the pink deepened on her fair cheek, and said to herself with a softly little sigh, as she at last turned away, "She's awful happy! they mostly are when they first get married. I wonder if it ever lasts ? '' ^ The pretty chambermaid had problems of 83 Pauline, uVrtoTor -'- -«J"S fret to s"eel"eE"he '.out h'"'"!''^ ^^ ^>-k the back room or I« u ^'^"^ ''^^ "'"'des in gered to say :^ ""' '''^'" "P' ''"^ ''he lin- ma^m:an^d7o"vem£i f -^ ^° !^"p watch, bly could tiirhe go't 2k y°";''^' ^ Po^si- I'ke to, myself." ^ ' ^"'^ ^ "> ''""•^ I'd Constance smiled on her "Mr r ■ was very thouffhrf,,! of ^ ^'^- Curtiss " I shalf tell hfm that vo?'' '°'"^°"'" '^^ '^'^^ but I do not n^ed " v?h "^'■^ -"ost attentive; you." The wTnsom^'^ -F " P.''*^""^' thank girl. wnsome smile emboldener! the saii^rnS^alf liker'"' ''" °^ ^ ''"^." «he him to have a n ce wife"" 'f *"'.'? ''"'^ *'»"ted her. You and he are '"f Tl ''^'"'^ ''^■'' g^t aren't you.?^" "^ ''"'^"' ''WX together, it." said the . „ici";i,^°".::u'„t""' '° '^^^"•''^ happy." ^' but we are certainly " ^""'^ "'""^'y ""-^ « fi'-^t." said Dilsey. think- «4 i< ff^ho Are You? >) ing her gr^t thought aloud. « What I'd like to they .as awful happy fo. a few"^o„"f'' ^"h then he began to dnnk and was hateful . ... and one night he kicked her'" It Ss"foolis?n? ' ''"'' ^''^''""-tion of dismay. It was toolish, of course ; she must be erowina in i.7''*-,! ^°'P^' ^'""''" **'d Dilsey, interested left hirift'" ""fr^'°" '^"^ ^^^ m^ade. « sJe left him after a while; they hadn't been marrieH J\ V"^ ^'■""'''^ '■^"'^''^s f»«her back than that " "That's what I think," said Dilsev • bur wantn°"' ''""'^'y' ^ ^''-gh ^h end So want to hear more just then. |he was sure o^ 85 Pauline. )l\r}T'?T S'""'' ''"' "°' ^y »"y ^^^^ cer- tain about the respect and trust. . Left to herself, Constance went back to her w£ hTk""^ '"'^r'^r '^^"'"- She wondered what had become of the pale young mother with after InT' """"K ^^' "'i^' "°^ ^^ ^ -idow cause he kicked her ! The voung wife shivered again over that dreadful story, tlen smiled at her folly. She w.shed that she had a bit of work to take up her thoughts, or a book to read. Was .t possible that that pretty chambermaid who was so anxious to do something for her could supply her with reading mattfr? She rJ u'"? """Z '"^'^^ ^^^ eflSrt. Only she could think of nothing in print that she '^ra ed to read just then. It was absurd that she shouU not go out for a walk; the morning was alluring, and she felt the need of a littlf vigorous exercise She was not half a dozen .ouares removed from a part of the city S wiiich she was acquainted fbut she had no 2 of going out; instead, it gave her exauisite pleasure to think that she^as unJer Tnds and must not go. Then came the chamJer maid again. tI. ere was a young woman iTthe office asking to see Mrs. Curtiss. • lo see me?" said Constance, in surprise Who could It be.? She had many calling ac- quaintances in town, but none of them were 86 ^^fTho Are YouP* sufficiently unconventional, or for that matf^r intimate enough, to call upon a newly made bride who had not yet reached her home, and whose cards were out for a later date. "I don't know what her name is, ma'am she didn't give it. She's a nice-looking woman enough, but she's awful pale and sick looking. She says she wants to see you very particular • that she hasn't any card, but that if you knew who she was you would let her come up fast enough. She's got a real handsome little bov with her." ' Constance turned in startled wonderment. Lould It be the poor young woman whose perilous street crossing she had watched ? If so, what could she want with her.? It was hardly possible that this was an acquaintance. 5)he ran rapidly over in mind the various sewing girls and cooks' assistants who had done duty from time to time in her uncle's house of late years, but none of them fitted the present re- quirements. Besides, the woman, despite her frayed appearance, was distinctly not of that class. Still, it must be one whom she had known in some capacitv, and she might be in distress, or at least in need of a friend. "Areyousure she knows for whom she is asking ? Constance inquired, as all these be- wilderments hurried through her mind. " ^''» y^s'm ; I asked very particular. She 87 Pauline. morning papers" '^'''"^ '^ '" "H the papers, then direcLd thXe'r cT*"k^ '1. ""= to her room. Whoever «h " ''^ *''°*n eyer her errand, she mus ± k""*'' "'"^ ^*'«- withouc a hearing °' ^^ '"^"^'^ "vvay dia^'atTeit;- rtri:" 'r^"'^^ --- one more look a the ter.f * '" "''^ ^^^ hope in her heart that thff f '"^ ^'"^ « would not detain her Ion t C^^A '^^^^'°P'"ent «We to get away LoZf\^::^^:rf'! Then the door onenpH j > ^ "^'^ said. \omanina.black£essat'rS"^' ""^" P''"^ what frayed, and with '<,! '""^fyand some- worn, entered JhedeasfnT" "'^ ^^"-^ '""<^'' iier handsome boy Ey he hanT'si!'".'"''"^ without invitation upo^a CO "i • ^ °^^^^ come with fatigue ' ''''^ °"e over- be uLty^Kl:'^ -id. "Iseem to •norning; and Earned '"f^'^ '"^^ ^^' ^'^- ?ome of the streets wEe tTJv h,^' K°°' ""°^^ 88 ' (< ff^ho Are You.^ >> I S. .1 "'' "'"''^"y ""'l «PP"I. She was sice's lot Th"K'°'''" ^elf-reliant Con? stances lot. The boy's eyes were not like h,s mother's except in'size. and h.s hands j^^e s3er '^'"^ "'^'^ '^^'^'^'^ -«^ -««hed7n "Isn't this a pretty room ? " he began eagerly th«.Js''rS:iird.''^'^''^^^^^'^-'^---^- she'slTtXv c'rire?':fth""T''"'^ y"""-^^""'" , , . •^*"er, with gent e erace " Will you tdl me"h"r'^'7"^ "•-' ^ iS^e befo e you tell me what I can do for you ? " me " sSr ""PP^^^y^" "n do anv thing for m I W ^ *°'"''"' "°' '^ "'"g'^^ '^ing ! and must Yhh 'T'' "• ''"'"ed to me that I must. I d d not question it at all, but started the very minute that I could after Ik I r tSv 'l H^H '^ '^'^^ '■"''^''^'1 ^he place yes- as S;«M T '^'"'' y°" «■■ »"ybody to be TdTd •• '' '' ^ ''"• "^^ '^''^^' I don•t^hink This was all bewildering to Constance. w« i! ^T m'serable ? " she asked gently • it was the only word she could think of to <=;„ 89 It! Pauline. ltl\TT\ " y°""g- too; not older than ilTu Pf'^'P? "*?' *° °'''- "What was it she had hoped to be in time to prevent? And faihng m that what was it she expected to ac- complish by this visit i" ■'1 am very sorry for you," she said aloud; I ? ;? '"yfh'ng I can do to help you, be sure I shall be glad to do it." ^ The woman turned her great sad eyes upon Constance with a look that went to the depths of her heart, but the words she spoke were as bewildering as ever. worM "'t^^ ''•" '"'f- ■"*=' "°'*>'"g in this fhij • rlT' '°,'^? '''" "ght away, only -there IS Charlie I don't thfnk I came for help How could you help? I suppose I kept on after I found I was too late, because I wanted to turn your happiness into misery. There was a while that 1 wanted just that. Why should you be in the highest (ieaven of happiness, and I in despair ? And yet, I sup- pose I might have let you fancy yourself In Do^Tito^r-"^- '' "^ ^"^^ "- - '-• aU^J?i"°'^S°"''''"" ^^g'" *° be thoroughly alarmed. This woman whom she had care- lessly admitted to her room was evidently insane What mischief might she not do herself or others before she could be got rid 9° ** IV ho Are Your' of? With this thought in mind, she turned toward the bell with a feeling that she must summon somebody to her aid. "Oh, you needn't ring," said her caller, quietly. 'There is nothing to be afraid of; at lea!,t, nothing that I can do. I wonder that I haven't gone mad, with all I have had to endure, but I haven't. I ca , convince you in five minutes that I am perfectly sane, and know only too well what I am talking about, when once I begin. But now that I am here 1 have a miserable feeling that I might perhaps have kept away, and let vou be happy for a while, /was happy; why should you not have your turn ? You are only a victim, after all." " Who are you.? "' asked Constance, her face growing pale, and a strange sense of fear and dread creeping over her. " Who arf. you, and what do you want of me ? " " I don't know what I want of you ; I don't think I want anything. What could you do, poor creature, except suffer ? But as for me, I am what you thJnk you are : I am Mrs. Charles Gordon Curtis^, the lawfullv wedded wife of the man who stood up beside you Lst night, and vowed to love and cherish you ' until death did you part,' just as he vowed it to me. I was there an hour after you left, and heard all the town busy with your praises and his. I came from Deepwater this morning; if there 91 'tf Pauiine. Snirh""^"'"''^"-''''^'- followed you " Vou think I am mad " c»,- > moment's nauoe h^ ■ ^''?5''"f'""ed after -ho had Hse^n "aS ^ff / "'' ^'•''"'^''"". «°od as if transfixed with h ''"'' '"^"'^ I'". ga«d upon her M-rth Tr-"'' ^'^'•^«r, and >-" ^ Almost wish ,V,t'r "'='''■''-■' ture, I am sorry for vou i V • " ''""•' ""- "n have such a himan f. '" ' " ^'"'"^ '^^' ' "'hers left in me "dl " I'J- ,'' "'"°'' ^^^ that 1 would feel it for you but r"°' '"f'^P''* you have been deceive/? ' , ^ "" ''« 'hat knows how to do it ' '^A-'n '''' T' ^^' ^^ couldn't have spoken tn/"^'' ^1°'" ''^»^^n nor sweeter ones Tan he ,1 "'°""'^'"g -°^ds, until he wearieS^fS; ^e always spoke to me but I couldn'f h I L *"* '"'VOU see,— hard to be well Lts' T" ^^ ' ^^-^ -as not, and he saw thjf'' ^'^ ^^en I F-^.?..ror~"- ■■'- herself. " r'aZ L.. "™™'« ""ftled even -y husband r"i":!„":"rhitr.f"°"'"'f 92 ^^IVho Are Youf' )> " Poor woman ! you haven't any husband. I tell you I am Charles (Jordon Curtiss's wife. I was married to him in Florence five years ago this very June. 1 have the witness here in black and white; you- shall look at it for your- self; you will see that it is no forgery. For- gery ! why should I want to forge a thing like that ? Since I could not keep his love, f care only for the honor of my bov. He ought to own his child. I believe i my soul that if he had deserted only me, ...d had sent for the child and given him his name and his rights, I would have hidden away in silence •'nd died, making no sign. But could I ser -ly boy ruined without an effort to save hii ' You wouldn't have done that. And yet I cower away in terror this minute over the thought of how angry, how fearfully angry he will be when he discovers that I have followed and betrayed him. Proof? Haven't I proof enough ? even before he comes to confront me. Look at the boy, his boy ! Did you ever see eyes like those on any face but one ? And the shape of his head; — why the very set of his lips is his father's." Constance turned and gazed as if fascinated at the beautiful child-face, looking the while herself, as she might have looked had she been readmg the record of a soul's doom. Was it the face of her huslv.nd in miniature on which 93 Pauline. strange mixture of child T^A ' ■ ^'''' « wavs " In Vk ■ ""'^ woman n all her almost enjoJtellL";?' ' ^''""^''^ ^ ^hodd that, do you nS"-"^ ^°' y°" ' y°" believe p4--«but Tmust he, ' """' ^""^'^^ with you have to sarand und""" 'l^'^'hing that was that you came tn K 'f'""^ ,^"« how it Where dij you ™ ee° h1,'° ^""'T^ '^^"'^^d. i? now my h'usband / And w'en'll^dT ^'''"'^ nage take nlare fh,* u ^" ^"^ 'his mar- " Poor creature^" has crazed your brain ? " garding her wi h eyes of und" t''l ''^'"' '-- "I do1,ot wonderTt you in th"e r'^ '^'^P?^''^' awful shock. If I J°,", " ?^ i^*« '• 't « an do not supnose r ,h M ""'^ ''^ '"^»ne •' I then. People with ct'^^ I"""- "''°"' '"^thing that they are crzvrl'"T%^,*' "°' '">°w Charles Gor5o„ g'rtt ^e^V ■^'^y' ^ "'^ -hile he was abroaS S-^, f ^'.''"/^o. his spending two ve^^V ^l"" ^^""^ °f interests of lis firm?" ""'' '^"'' ''" 'he 94 "^/&o Are You? »» The cord that seemed to be about Constance's heart pulled suddenly tighter, as though a cruel cL r^ '^'"•'T '*•■ "''*' ''^'^ ''eard frequently of Mr- <-u>-tiss s two consecutive years abroad. 1 was there, at Florence, with my poor mother; she died, thank God, before she knew anythmg about the misery that came to me Mother and I were poor relations in a wealthy femily. I am, like yourself, well born. Charles Curtiss looks carefully after all such matters because, you see, he fancies himself in earnest' each time. You and I are not the only victims 1 have found that out too." fji* 91 « VIII. For Honors Sake. CONSTANCE suddenly nut her h a ovel- her ears as if f^ u*^ ^^^^^ ana spoke m sharp, tense tones. band in this marerTca^ d" '""1'"^ ^^ *>"- Gordon Curtiss"rabo:rbtrLt?^/""- tongues, and his wife will not h^ear th.^ ^"^ your poor brain is crazed f tn • •^- ^"^ ought to have parience with vn "^ '' "' '"'^ ^ me vour story."*^ "" y"" ^ §« o". tell She had softened her voice with th» i ■ words, and she ev^n a l the closing sembknceofasm," .^nZL Hr'"°"''' '"^^ ^^f sympathy Thl "^^"''ed ^r soothing and se^en^d tt tJtThtr?"''" '" ^^^ °' ^^^ tively'TatS th7n 2°^'^°" '". ^''e said reflec- ■n the/enWent « C H Te "f ^^^-^'y dear, .fyoufke the name Sl;;'r.;^lth"e; 96 For Honor's Sake. always did; there are reasons why I am a trifle prejudiced against the other name." Then added: "Silly reasons; I have acquaintances abroad who are not in every way agreeable ; there is a sort of kinship among us and they always call me 'Charles,' and f do not like them to have anything in common with you " I u J' i'"'',^'^ ^^ ^^ '■'^"^ 't' and she had laughed and told him he was too exclusive, but she had always, after that, said " Gordon " And now her strange guest's words went through her like a knife. The woman continued her story without further prompting. " Mother and I were out therewith father's sis- ter who had married a rich man. After mother died 1 lived on with them, ostensibly as one of- the family, but I w^s in reality nursery gov- erness and nursery drudge. The children were disagreeable, and their mother was willing that they should be, to me. Charles Curtiss was a trequent guest in the house, and saw it all, and his kind heart was touched with pity — he had a kind heart in those days. I was a poor fool, and \ believed that pity was really 'akin to ove, and when he professed that love came too I believed that, and was glad, oh, so glad to be married to him. I cried because mothe; Tof lit' u '^ '" ^^^'^ "'y J°y- My aunt did not Jikc the marriage; she had ima^ned that 97 Pauline. ii Charles Curtiss was interested in her oWest daughter -I presume he made the girl think so; though I did not believe it at the time — so we haa no wedding, nothing like the Deep- water expenence only a quiet ceremony in tfie Chapel ; he said he preferred it that way, and 1, poor fool, believed every word he said. But there were witnesses, and at least five of them arc living now, and can testify to the truth of what I am telling you ; there was nothing secret about It. I lived in heaven for nearly a year 1 can see now that he began to weary of me before the year was out, but I did not realize It at the time. Then he went home to Amer- ica, recalled suddenly by business so urgent that there was not time to plan for me to ac- company him." Again that awful tug at the ever tightening string about Constance's heart. Mr Curtiss had told her once, that after spend- mg nearly two years abroad, he started home- ward at an hour's notice. The story continued. He was to return in a very few weeks, or 1 was to be sent for to go to him ; but he never returned, and I was never sent for It IS a short story, after all, you see. A beautiful dream ; heaven for a year; then, a slow awak- ening and after that years of— you may sup- ply the name. I had letters at first; very tender and very plausible ones. Unexpected business complications held him, and he did not 98 For Honor's Sake. want to send for me, because he was arraneine matters so that we could make our permanent home in beautiful Florence and need never re- turn to this ' American desert.' I trusted in him as 1 would in an angel, even after the letters and remittances ceased ; long afterward ; but I know now that he never meant to come back • never meant any of the nice things he said and wrote. There was a time when I believed him dead, and i worked hard to put myself into decent mourning for him. It was not lone after that, that a New York paper fell into my hands that contained an account of a brilliant lecture he had given the night before ! I had not known that he was a lecturer, but I knew he could do anything he chose. He wrote poetry, exquisite poetry, some of it so tender and pathetic that a stone, almost, would have cried over it. After that I wrote to him • I wrote volumes ! I told him about our boy with his eyes, and the letters were returned to me ! Not unread, mind you, they had been opened, and enclosed in other envelopes and ad- dressed : « Mrs Charle* G. Curtiss.' The same hand that addressed them had written those first loving letters to me ; but in these there was no word of his, not so much as a reference to his child. Don't you think that was the refinement of cruelty ? Even then I believed in him. That sounds insane, doesn't it ? But 99 Pauline, I got up a theory that he had been unfortunate and lost money, and that he was resolved not to come back to me until he could come in a manner that befitted the position of a Curtiss You know what an old family the Curtisses are ? and they are all proud; so I hoped against hope and against sense, and wrote, oh, such letters to mm ! 1 begged him to come back to us, or at xl^ Charlie and me hear from him I told hii^ I was at work, and that I could sup- port Charlie and myself as well as not until he could do for us again, but that I could not live without his letters; and he never wrote one line ! After a time he grew tired of returning my letters I suppose; they did not come back 1 hen I lost all trace of him, and all hope. And then, —I saw a report of him in a stray paper, that he was going to be married ! After that I resol'-ed to find him. I knew the old family home was somewhere in this region, and 1 meant to get Charlie there in time to save him. But It took me a cruel while to raise the money, and then I fell ill, and it was thought that I would die; but I had to live, you know, for Charhe s sake, until I could find his father. And at last I accomplished it, and reached Deepwater just one hour after the ceremony had been performed that you thought made you his wife ! " It was a much longer story than that. Con- For Honor's Sake. stance, from listening at first with a half terror at the thought that she was alone with an in- sane person, listened later in a terror born of other fears. Her face grew pale and then paler, and a strange ashy hue overspread it, and her heart began to beat in great thuds that made her famt; but still she listened, and from time to time thrust in her sharp, keen questions, which were answered with a promptness that took her hope away. By very slow degrees, and fighting skilfully every mch of the road, she let the fearful sus- picion take hold upon her that not herself, but this other woman, was Charles Gordon Curtiss's lawful wife, and the beautiful boy whose set of chin was like his father's was Charles Gordon Lurtiss s deserted son ! She was too stupefied by the revelation to feel the full horror of it but sat as one dazed, and stared at the woman,' and thought the strangest things about her, and about herself, as one might whose brain was reeling. Yet she was keen, too, and plied those questions and felt each time the stab as of a knife at her heart whenever the story would match certain facts in Mr. Curtiss's life, of which she had heard before. She reached again for the marriage certificate and read those two names: Catherine Pauline Frazier p.nd Charles Gordon Curtiss. " He always called me Pauline," the woman lOI imr-h- Pauiine. SPed U'^r^K •"»'''"g-" -y uncle^faJ; Wed Te ^"''"■"^..but he never would; he as wel for'' ''' ''f = 'T'^ '' P'^'^^'^d me us as well, for my mother always said Paulin.. " Constance v s b y shudderpH • \Z^ ^auime. of those awful ?r fles wi h ;hich tl^^^ was unwittingly nroving her tth' theTwTre and f'e ' '"'ir''- ■^"""'^''' '" Nettie's p^aHor and he was addressing an envelope for her-' M.SS Cathenne HolTand." and as he made the graceful curve to the "C" he sad: ««Tam glad your name is not Catherine; I had a^ ^f mv hu'r ^''° ^''^ "°^ « Pl-^^^ant feature of my childhood, and made me contract a prejudice against the name •• sittLa°e°rec'l'In'H r't- ''' ^'^''''-*°'"''n. suddenly sitting erect and looking earnestly at Constance -long afterward, in recalling Lr, Consin ' applied that name « child-wolan,"'she ^^^ n some respects so like an undisciplined chili - I have decided what I will do; it is all oo ate for me ; and besides. I am not go „g 1 1 ve moPh '7-TV ^ ^^-"^ ^ dreadful ^coufhTrnv fo^ L'year,"^^ W:J -3; been willing to wait h« ^i-7 ; "' "^^^"^ mind, he wasn't • he never hked to wait for things • wS he' wanted he wanted immediately, f kn^ttha! I02 For Honor's Sake. was his nature. But I almost wish I had stayed away and let him alone; only I couldn't yS know. for Charlie's sake; it really doesn't'mT- have thought of apian; I believe in my soul that you would be good to him; and if you will take h,m and get his father to 'own him an3 H« fh T/^' I' * T °'' ^''"'" Gordon Cur- t.ss should be brought up, I will give my baby to you and go away, and never trouble either ofyouawinm this world. Think of it! I'll Zl "^l nV°r"' "."'* ^^ '^ dearer to me than life -Oh that isn't saying much, is it.' because I don't care anything about my life any more; I want to be done with it. You would be good to Charlie, always, wouldn't U ,L *7'd jbr his sake, anyway; he is lis son, remember. W^th those words Constance started up and « SsJ" '' *''^"' "P^" "P°" ''*''■ ^™''«" .J'^*°'''«T^''* **''^' ''" ^°'" no' fierce but solemn. Do not say another word like that to me. Do you think I would live with a man who IS not my husband ? If a third of your story ,s true, it is I who muat go away, and it >s you that he must take to his Lme tVis day • JhaH ! " ^°"' °^ ' '''' ''°y •' ^^ •"""* »"d he The child-nature in the other woman was for 103 h] If:, Pauline, my sZ 7iiS'''/r,r\'"i: "/"■" »ot g,vc him „p „j g„ "r ■ "•" 1 «'«W voiJ »*"?/£ "fK'f Consume, h„ oh. he can f ha;e a d" no^h'''''^' t"'^ ""i^' ' but— we auarrell^H • ^'""^ about that, told me so himself anSsaSX^rPr"' ■''^ tamper when roused was a SSbfe^tht, ' ""'" 104 ^' For Honor's Sake, If Constance could hn- -; grown paler she would have done so und.r tEis added thrus h,H -^1 Y' '*'" •!""" °^ Ueepwater gossips he old judge, .n some respects, and that man's temper was something fearful! I hope you will never have occasion to discover tLr his son has inherited that trait." And Constance, as she laughed indulgentlv because the gossip was an oldtamily friend and meant no harm, Ld said that despite all such warnings she was not able to conceive of her self as in the least afraid of him. Yet this child-woman sat crying and shuddering because he feared h.m! Then Constance thought of the br.de who had been in thnt very room and whose husband had kicked her ' They talked long. The story was gone over again and yet again in minutest detail and certain possible threads of explanation were followed up with the eagerness o^f despair unt, they vanisfied. The two hours that fe Curtiss had set as his first limit of absence passed, and It was nearing the close of the third hour when Constance, suddenly becoming aware tion had been taken ; her one passionate desire now was to get away before the man that she 105 !>' Pauline, had called her husband should return. The r„H ?"'^'.'r°"'''. »>« to look upon his face a« n and hear h.s voice. She must go away at ofce Tol r'"- :i "^ 8°'"g'" '^' «id!and she looked toward the inner room, where her street wraps lay wa.tmg. « I am going now. a once There is no time to be lost. *You will wS here to see him when he comes. Of course To :!";,'•' '" '^^ ''S^' thing, and therefo e the only thing to be done " itor wi^h'^I;"'*"'r"e°-" '■''^"^d hervis- nZhZ "'■^°':-«'-"^ke" voice; she had accom- exot^ J° "'"''' T'!" ^y ^" ^'^*' than she had expected or even desired. « What will become an/me'.'ih Y ""/^/'^y °' '^^ '° Charge eJen'mus?*''""'''""*'^"'^' "«= -«''' "Madam," said Constance, "you are a woman, and not a child nor an idiot. Do noJ fa k such words There is certainly no physi- cal danger to be feared ; you must know tLtfat least, since you are not a lunatic, as I had hoped ' you were. It doesn't matter to anybody where tha3'"^- J'^t^^'^--' -te, eVai^ningl^^ that w II need explaining; 1 wish never to see himor you agam ; and that is as it should be." chin he ^ ' ,that trembled a. with an ague ch.ll he tore a leaf from a small tablet that was in her bag, and wrote : — 1 06 I For Honor's Sake, forcJcn''""" ""•' I «n, going .w.y Then she rang the bell. The watchful of'thTcS" ''fh'' '^-^'^'^ by theTng?h of the call and the continued absence of The husband was at hand immediately. The lady whom she believed to be Mrs. Curtiss was putting on her street jacket. com«?" ''°".8°'"g ?"t. ma'am, before he comes ? was her surprised question. Rrin„ "' "'"'' ^°"«»"«. "I i-m going out. Bnng me an envelope from the okzJ Bv a strong effort of wilfshe steadied her .and to write once more the familiar -ime - Charles Gordon Curtiss. laiffofjim.' ''' "''•=' "°« °" ^''^ '^'''« 'o "And what shall I say to him, ma'am.?" asked c^u7nirh'"^."''''°"r'y " '^^ woman who Its beating^ Hadn't you better wait till he kT'death vo"h' 'f '°"S "°^' ''"'^ y- '-k iiKe death, you do, being so t red ! " and she coweMn^ "^f "' S'^'r ^' ''^ small woman cowering m the easy-chair. " I cannot wait ! "' said Constance. « I have had an imperative summons. This note will 107 Pauline. P'eaded Dilsey «o* "--"age for you ? " folks here like to lase Mr V ''"' ^°^ '''^ "aid I was to take care nf ^""'"' '""^ ''e '^^Pe back; you look ,hft''°"L'"?^'"'"'' ^^ ^ -- go alone? said"^onsta„ce. io8 I IX. ''IFho IFas ^ Pauline' r^ DILSEY followed her charge from the room, muttermg to hersel^and feeling very savage toward the intruder whf to the brSTfl da'y^^^''^''"g''^^-"^''-'-dy • ^\ PJ"""', P^'^ o-eature had dropped back into the depths of th, great chair .nH • her farp uMfh « u ? '^"="r> and Covering ner face with one hand was sobbing softiv be hmd It Long before this, her bL, Jrowin; weary of gazmg from the window at th'edZgf below, had thrown himself at full length uZ heThtan"/ "" ^■-Pi"g;'^e sound^sleep^of Healthy and overwearied childhood. As Con t atThf ' ' f^' S'=^"" ''^'^'^^-d, the image' ful flu.h '7/'"^ '^'u^- *"'' '•'='• ^^^ his beaul! Ser face ' " ''' '""'"^^ ''"^^""^ ^° ^^at Left alone, the child-woman abandoned her- obbed I fh '"T": °^ S"^^' ^"'^ ^°bbed and enH 1 u °"S'' "''^ '°"'d "ever stop. Pres- ently the boy awakened, slipped from fc couch and came to her side, his bTue eyes sd heavy' «"th sleep, yet growing full of sympathy S 109 Pauiine. than wonderment. EvidenHv I,- his mother's tears „„''^""y "f was used to and tried to Eh one V "P^*^'^ ^""^l' ^and touch of the baby hand % ''" ^''^^'^- ^t to seize the woman Sh ^i'" 'T°^ ^"'"ed ^ong the manTs'ounds r„'r"Hi,-^ ^om she detected a familiar one st • "'. '^°"&''f by the arm, and scarce I. n • '^.'^^'^ ^^^ ^oy hurried to the door £? "? ^''« ^l^^ did! her,andc,»ossedthrh;i iTh^ " °P^" ''^'''"d room, or rather closer stnnH "°°'' '° ^ ^'^«" ? chair inside, oveThichh,„7'"J "^"'"^ ^^^ .es awaiting attention Tnto"fir'i!^°- draper- and drew her boy to her kne ?"" ^^^ ^''"'^ that he was used to sudden in .-^'jPP^ared nients, and to silence Hi ^u"''^" """^e- hand to her throEg heS an7'^'' ^^'^ ^^' Reeling had been that she ^ "^ '''""'^- "^r that room, must see fh!. '' ?" ^^^X ^om or heard of her Sh ""f' ^^^'^'•^ ^^e saw ^ace that his mo^od wa noT\o\"" '"•" '''^ that would frighten her hi a^'^ ^'"^^ °"^ no '^ ^^JVho TTas <■ Pauline' r' upstairs three steps at a S ' '"'"' spot elgS^J*^ °^" ^''^-P- door he aariing!' The complications were — " H, topped, s„,„g „„ „„, .„, J^^^ ,.^H. rerveTe?ateToV7'"^^i^' t ''^'^ ''^^ ^ sight of the i:tteVXssIS^?o'hiS:,rt; course he recognized the handwr S ' He III III Pauline. forlJe."" "'"''''"'■"*'•' J ^^ going away The child-woman across the hall sudrfenl„ pressed one hand over her mouth ocove"'^ W sound that was not like a scream nor yet a moan, but was a stifled mixture of both fien she rose up, clutched her boy by the arm »^H shpped like a swift shadow down the hall down the long flight of heavily carpeted steos cTaSeled"* ^^""'^'/'^-"gh the^owStl^r- oS^'erik-rrtsff ^■fn-r-Ss;^a^-£S arouid Z' ^" '"^-'^""y preserved, somehow Xre that Jn"'/' T "'^"Sht of the room' wLThereaThis Sterns '\'Tt "°^^ rorge. that facers'rw'a3 at dTtt ^^d^ S?i^ h\i?trprcttutv°-"^^^'"g-"; For a moment or two Mr. Curtiss stood like s"r:n;"e:or:'"-'^^''"^ '"'^ -reading tht forever"" '""^^"''"^' J am going away Suddenly his room bell rang fiercely • whir d^'r' ^''t^^'rought Dils!y flyinVdown oZ. '''?.J'"«h floor and the clerk frL the office. "Something must have happened'" 112 '^n^ho H^as ' Pauline' r' they told themselves, as they ran. Somethinc. had happened. Mr. Curtiss turned fierce"! upon D.fsey. "Where is Mrs. Curtiss?"^ demanded, m a tone that he might have used jf^he meant to accuse the girl^of murderfng n,,3^' ^1^°"^ °"''" ^^l'"«d Dilsey, dis- mayed, she knew not why. " Gone out where } " . Dilsey recovered herself. " J don't knn«, s.r; she left a note for you; tha ough to 3 you more than I know." ^ Mr. Curtiss held the open letter at th,» moment in his hand. The^ slgi of i made a "iolt" S^ '"f °^^^"" °f s^elf-controlTby a violent effort he mastered his voice and tTe usu;i.'""^'"^ ^'^^ '"'° '^ -mblance of u,J'^"i°'"''°"'''^' •'"^^'^e forgot to tell me surorL r" ^°"-"'- -d-llas taken by surprise. Can you give me an idea. Dilsev where to go for her ? " i^iisey, tiss"-;hv""''h ""■ ■ ^u' ^'^ " ^*''' Mr. Cur- tiss —why ! where is that woman .? " Dilsev looked about her in new bewilderment. ^ keenh- 1^^""^ • ^'- ^urtiss could not he wetT ^'■°"' biting off his words as though he^werein court examining an especially trying " Why. the woman who came to see her, and 113 Pauline. stayed till she tired her all out. Mrs. Curtiss looked that pale and sick that I made bold to coax her not to go out till you came, or to let me go with her; but she said she must go alone, she had been sent for, and the business was important ; and the woman was to wait here to see you as soon as you came in ; her business was important, too." " Where is the woman .? " " That is more than I know." And Dilsey peered anxiously into the next room. "She was to stay here, Mrs. Curtiss said. I wish I had stayed too; it's against the rules of the house to leave strangers in rooms that don't belong to them ; but I thought it was all right of course, because she had come to see Mrs' Curtiss. She has gone, sir, so far as I can see. Under the circumstances, Mr. Curtiss con- trolled his manner remarkably well. " What sort of woman was she, Diisey ' " "She was a little bit of a pale woman" in a black dress and black gloves and everything • and she looked kind of scared some of the time. She was awful tired when she got here and looked about sick ; Mrs. Curtiss made her sit in the easy-chair and rest. She had a hand- some little boy with her ; just a baby, you might say, three, or four, maybe. She came hours ago, only a little while after the boy brought 114 i( W^ho Was ''Pauline' r^ was your note, and they talked and talked ! I was up and down the hall a good deal, kind of waited around, you know, as much as I could to be on hand if she didn't ri ything was wanted; but talk ng, and they seemed to be ing, until at last, half an h just ■=' ,"',": ■"■"' '""' "" "our or so aeo she rang the bell and called for that envelope you ve got in your hand, and told me that." Told you what ! " " Why, what I told you ; she said she must go out right away ; she had been sent for or something like that; and she had got to go alone. I wanted to go with her and take care of her, as vou told me, but she wouldn't let me. And she said the woman was to wait here to see you, just as I said. And why she d.dn t wait, after making all this fuss, is more than 1 can guess. An awfbl and unreasoning anger swept over Mr Curtiss. Had the small pale wom^n been within hearing, she would have thought of the Curtiss temper. ^ ^k"!/°'^«^'"■^ y°"'" ^^ ^^''1 '" a voice of thunder, "let a strange person in here to annoy my wife, and then let her go out on these crowded streets alone, after the charge I gave you this morning?" ^ ^ Dilsey had borne a good deal that day, and her nerves were much stirred. She admired ivir. Lurtiss, but she was not used to surh '15 Pauline. words or tones from him. She too could speak a language to which he was not accus- tomed. " I did not know that your wife was a pris- oner," she said angrily. " The woman called tor her all regular as people do at hotels, and 1 took up the word, and she chose to see her • and she chose to go out afterward, and she' wouldn t let me go with her; and I don't see how any d?cent man can blame me." Again came to Mr. Curtiss's perturbed mind the need for caution. He put an iron will upon his emotions. ^'■"e." he said, in almost his natural tone. "I was so annoyed at the discovery that Mrs. Curtiss's kind heart has evidently been im- posed upon by some designing stranger that I did not realize what I was saying. Of course vou could not help what has happened, and i have no doubt but that you were very thought- ful and kind. Now will you go at once and have the houss searched for this mysterious stranger? She must be wandering about it somewhere, if she wished to see me. Bring her here as promptly as possible; I should be out in search of Mrs. Curtiss." From force of habit he looked at his watch. _ " It's some of that horrid law business, I spose." Dilsey was mollified and sympa- thetic, and volunteered this crumb which she ii6 " Who IVas ^ Pauline' r' meant for comfort as she turned to obey his directions. She believed that the "horrid law business" represented vexation and iniquity enoujgh to account for anything; but Mr Curtiss, being in her estimation the greatest lawyer in the world, could soon unravel the mystery. Mr. Curtiss strode after her to close and lock his door, with a feeling that he must be abne with his misery. T^en he read again the brief message that told so little, yet so fear- Srr ^'i'i" v^u' p'p'^'- '^'■"p f^"*" his fingers he pressed both hands against his throb- bing temples and tried to think connectedly. What had happened ? Who was " Pauline '' > and what tale of horror could she have spread before h.s wife to lead her to write those woros, 1 am going away forever ! " What had become of the woman .? He must move heaven and earth to find her, for she alone could explain this mystery. No, he must first Why had he allowed a second's delay ? Yet where should he go } In that great city.' which way shou d he turn to find a woman who had not only left no clew to her whereabouts, but had meant to leave none.? Still, tha . of course, -.vas folly. If Constance, in a momen- tary passion over some fancied discovery of wrong, had allowed herself to make such a 117 Pauline. . !' ;t resolve. It would not be even so long a time as this before she would have repented her foilv yes, and her wickedness. Constance was not ^ I ^''c would have ao wish to torture him. S.he had been rendered wild for the moment over some story. What could the story have been ? But her sane, strong nature would gain Its poise, and she would come back to him? of careful than in his surprise he had been. Why had he allowed himself to speak so plainly before Dilsey? The world must not "i now! no one in the world must know, that there had risen a moment's cloud between his wife and himself. He must be calm and self-possessed • he must act as though nothing in the least serious had occurred. He must control him- self in order to shield his wife With these and a dozen other conflicting trams of thought that seemed to whirl through his brain instead of being summoned by his rea- son he got through with an awful hour; doing nothing except to gaze at times at the human life continually surging by on the street below, with the feeling that his wife must be among them on her way back to him. Dilsey had re- turned in due time to say that she could find no trace of that queer woman, and that she must have changed her mind about waiting, and slipped away without anybody noticin| her. ll8 **frbo Was ^ Pauline' r' The elevator boy had a dim notion that he saw a woman something like her go down the hal) awhile ago, but he wasn't sure ; it mieht have been when she went upstairs that he noticed her. Folks were coming and going all the time, and he couldn't remember; no more could any of them ; but there hadn't been anything missed, so Dilsey guessed that the woman wasn't a thief, and maybe she would come back after a while and explain things. The uppermost feeling in Dilsev's heart was a desire to comfort the man whose face showed that he had been stricken. He had forced himself to smile, and to thank the girl and tell her that all would be made clear when his wife returned. He had been greatly tried at first at the thought of her being on the streets alone; he had not realized that she was not a stranger in the city. She must have been summoned to some person who was ,11, and as she had not known how long he would be detained, she had probably thought It not wise to wait for him. Then he had returned to his watch at the window, and had racked his brains once more in search of some clew to « Pauline." The name was not to be found among his list of acquaintances, rhis he assured himself a dozen times, then his mental consciousness said : Wait, what was th . dim memory coming slowly up from his 119 : Pauline, fcjnsotten past f A girl in hi. mother's employ K '*°" A ?"•* '•'">;"*" '""8hcd together, his mother and he. over her high-sounding name : "Emogene Pauline?" xBey ha J called h'; Emma, he remembered. He had not thought of the name "Pauline" since he was a boy nor of the girl who bore it. He recalled her distmctly now; or at least his mother's words concernmg her grew distinct. "Have a care. Cordon. Emma acfmires you greatly. I heard JJJ Na"cy this morning that you were a gentleman, ,f there ever was one. and her silly httle head is as full of dime novels and non- sense as It well can be. If you smile your I„Tk'i5"u"T'"' ^ y°" ^'^ 'his morning, and hold the door open for her to pa.... I am to her!"' ^"^ 5'°" '"'"' '°'" y°"^ ''"« He could seem to hear himself laugh, as he asked his mother if she wished him to be other than a gentleman to girls m her employ. The silly little Emma had gone away after a f< v months — or was it weeks? — under circum- stances that had distressed his mother, and filled her with apprehension for the future of one so easily tempted. His mother had tried «nH !fP^ c\ "} ^'t^' ^^ ^'g"='y remembered, and had failed; tT\e girl had drifted out of their lives ; but her name was Pauline. Could « be possible that she had appeared to Con- I20 ''Who H^as ' Pauline' r' itince with some strange and terrible ale fab- ncatcd with a view to extorting money? It seemed an unreasonable idea: the mrl M he remembered her, had not sicill enough for anythinR tragic; but what idea that was reasonable fitted the present situation ' 121 X. «* Something's Wrong / " AFTER that, Gordon Curtiss gave him- self up for a nme to a fierce fnger that •minded strangely with his misery. in him ,r "^'^^ ^^^ ^° ''«'e confidence 'n him so small a measure of faith for the man with whom she had stood but yesterdav at^h^ ma-'-ge altar and promised tS on y' defh should separate them, that she could turn from tr tha"t"r ^;h°"^"^ P^^^'°" becauseTfsr taie that at the worst could only have re stk he7o to h^^'^h'''' ^'^ should^eTreTo hnl ?^ L ^^^^ ^^"^ '■^'"'•" to him ? What hope could there be of their having a hrtTv or even an endurable life togetherf i? it ES begun m such distrust as this? Would he have believed aught against her? Not if an S,?nn if- ^'■''^" °^^'' 'he details again few p! 1°"JT*'' ^^^ '^°'-'-^"> -hat cLld that girl Pauline have told about him a bov anger? Whatever it was, why had it not 122 ««c, 'hinges JVrong!'''' occurrec to Co-ista.ice to wait and investigate? His life as a boy i,ad been spent in this city ' there were hundreds who could testify, if she needed the.r testimony, to the spotless name he had borne. Perhaps she had gone on a tour of investigation, and would return, pres- ently prepared to wind her arms about him and lay her head on his shoulder and say, Uearest, I have discovered that that Pauline told me only hes!" It seemed to him that he could see himself, having heard this, putting her hands away from him ; gently, not angrily^ but yet putting them away as he said • — " "^^V°"' '"'leed ! Do you know that if you had been accused before me of any evil whatsoever, I should have known at once without investigation, that the tale was false?"' Thus much her lack of faith surely demanded Yet before that awful night was over, Gordon Curtiss assured himself a hundred times that If he could but see his wife's face and hear her voice he would forgive at once and forever everything, anything. By six o'clock he roused himself to send a D&TA^'''V^''^ "^""g '^^' 'heir plans had been changed, and she need not expect Mrs. Curtiss and himself until she heard from him again. Then he sent for Dilsey and told her he was going after Mrs. t^urtiss, and should not return until the next 123 Pauline. Dilsey looked m ch ^^i '"7- '^''"'=« say that she was " awfbl al,?'. "1 "^""'^'^^ to fro-" her ! ■■ And « Waf ^> h' '""^ ^d' «<"•'' was took sick so ^n^A Jm^*" '^"^^^^ that hadn't that ittleL"'^'^'" ^"d "Why ^'' 5,'?-t it! i st; orse?'tot.^"l.^°''^ "- of Di sev, he Hirl nA* r • He got rid save that he kne" h '"'T'^. ^^'"-'"be? how shield 'his wife from ^°°\ "^""e pains To' he went to DeepwaTr ^'^ '''''"«' "'en would take hi^^heT if'l h' '™" "^^^ Constance had gone home •'^ '^'"^"^ '^^' was coming, and she h,H • ""'^ '''^ "'ght -here else^odd she 1"°^ T??'' \o hfm. •nust find her that niahfif h ^''' '''^ ''^ reason. 'S"^' '^ he was to keep his each time had chafed over th'"^ '^' y^'"' ^"^ the train made, and the len/ 1*"'"/ "°P^ ^''^ the way. On thi« ! ^ -^^ tediousness of to fairfy cSl Vhe're"^ " ^""^'^ '° '''^ had the utmost effort !oJr-""i" ^''^" ''« springing from the ai„ ' '"" himself from under the powe of Th" fr ,^°'"^-^y station, walk, or run. to her faster th"^ "'^ ''" '°''^^ h"n- As h^ finalvtu^!''l'J^f7-«s taking »-he DeepwaterplaXi.tr:^£«-- - 1 ^4 ^^Something's IVrong!'*'' ing for omnibus or carriage, made a dash dowji the road, the station agent looked after him cunously. "Something's wrong," he told himself, oracularly. Mr. Curtiss took the short cut across the park, and when he reached Its more shaded portion broke into a run A hundred voices in his brain seemed crying to h.m, "Only last night!" They clamored it in his ears as he rang the bell at Dr. Kenyon's door. Only last night he had gone out from that home with his bride on his arm, the proudest, happiest man that trod the earth ' 1 he bell clanged through the house,and made Kichard Kenyon wonder testily what " idiot " that was who couldn't wait for decency It was past calling hours, and Kate not being in attendance, it was Richard who answered the bell, and stood dumfounded before Mr Curtiss. " Where is Constance ? " Both men spoke the words at the same instant. Mr. Curtiss was the first to take in that fact, and he seized Kichard Kenyon by the arm and shook it vio- lently as he said : J^i^l % ''''• . ^''^^ '^^^^ y°" done here!"" " '"^^" '''^^ '^^ '^ "°' Long afterward, when Richard Kenyon had only contempt to bxpress for Mr. Curtiss, he owned that his heart had ached for the man 125 Pauline. ened people who showed then more Slv than ever before what Constance was to therS^ he reahzed even more forcefully the mear' "e^t«-St:e-:s-;S men jjl^^'-'y --."-g express took th^ th ee' men to town, leaving Mrs. Kenyon and Mrs Richard to cry and mourn and conjecture alonT Dr Kenyon returned that night- he feh compelled to do so Hp h^H U ^ ■ . ' cT,-o^u^A c ■ e nad been twice tele- eatrpr ;„„ • • ? '^ "ead in response to eager inquiries; they had not been able to acco^p,,3h hing; he could not go n to stance' "; ^^ "°' .^"°^n-how dear Con- stance was to hiin until now. Kichard was gone for a week ; then he came home to have a conference with'his facLr and £ h"7K^'y' "^^"^'•^''5 f"-- »« yet the search mg had been utterly fruitless, ft was a relief 126 1! ::!! ^^ Something's Wrong! ''^ to the poor young man to speak out to his wife the growing fierceness of his feeling toward Mr. Curtiss. "Oh, he is very innocent, and in agony, of course! Depend upon it, Nettie, he knows much more than he tells; it is a weak as well as an incoherent story. This ' Pauline,' he knows nothing about her, cannot conjecture what she may have told. He can recall the name only as one belonging to a little servant maid of his mother's, years ago when he was a boy. She was a mere child about whom he knew little then, and has known nothing since Do you believe that.? I tell you she knows something of him, and doubtless has solemn reason for remembering him! We have all been careless ; criminally careless. I wonder at my father, as I wonder at myself, for taking things for granted as we did. Charles Gordon Curtiss, of the great law firm of Curtiss, Curtiss and Gordon! that is positively all that we know of him ! What if they were old, wealthy, influential families ? How much does that sort of thing tell for the character of the next gen- eration ? Gordon Curtiss has spent years of his life abroad, — what kind of a man was he there ? Nobody knows. We have sacrificed Constance! My poor sister! I know her well. Mie would not bear anything of this kind; of the kind that it evidently is. Injustice toward 127 i I' I ( Pauline. ctstt":'!,?.?^^^^ ^""^ "' -"'d have driven and the missing Const^' J'a ^"'"^^ P'^^^'^ they discovered no dew m h "? "'6"' ""d They had moved w^fh ^'' thereabouts. Kcny'on seconding el mestl X c"" •°'? ' °'■• ment that his wife\ nlmf ^ [' ^"""t'ss s state- Public talk as far as noT M "" ^ ^'''^''^^'l «•«"" teen found to epSi'" t^'J ^' ^ad any beside Mr Curric ' . " '^""btful if time and mon y^e tookT?'^'".''"" '""'^h reporters away from £ ^ ^^ ^ P'"' °^ markable extent it 1! ""'^.i .''"' ^^ ^ re- lives were emplUed of .''"'"^'u^''"'^- D«««=- was so quiet tWo„lv,h'-' ''"' '^eir work cerned knew of It °7 '''°^^ y ^'^ *'^^''- shrewd SUSP ! cions. but they did not mention them even to that'he bV '^'i '''^\''"r '" '^'^ ^^"« heart R;A, H Y'^""^^' T^ "^^ "°^« outspoken Richard Kenyon, that the matter was better understood by Gordon Curtiss than he would have them think. But, unlike Richard Ken- yon, they still pitied him. "Poor fellow! "the elder Mr. Curtiss said, in the privacy of his own home, with only his own wife to hear. «< Poor fellow ! some of the wild oats he sowed when a boy have probabl^ borne an unexpected crop." ""»uiy His wife, who was only Gordon Curtiss's 130 ^'■Something's IVrong!" and he «„, .|o„e, y„^ remember' Ml iJ h" ;:/"t' s"^ "/r. ''■■ '* "™'=d i" £et;ii,'eJrri,-„«-,,.3 to tome,. ,g.m, „ le„, „„, S.,/^ ^^ they had known and respected for years ' N^ 131 Pauline. . Di'sey still talked Vn^,'"''"'"'^'^' « ^is hotel, source^f inforSn"^'^^ .^^; '"deed "^^ '"=«'" pie. Some thinlrl " '''T ^'''^^ °f Peo- ■s to be f^ed' sfe tlZT^ ''"' "\^^ ''^ same motive, an ever inr?. • ' ^V' ^"^ ^^e fi'm extended to his Z^l , l ^^ '^^^^'^y '» earnestly to arrange, I ' '"ur "'''" worked so would it the n Tdf of btr't^^'^^T ^''''' passed and nothinrr J? ''"''' "'^ ^"^^ days -nted itself. s'e^'^^Ll'LK^rf ''^^■ prii^SdS.:^- rf;''"'T%"-'-. the •"ay well be believed th.^"'"^'"'^'^ ^'^''^- ^^ in this direction fheverrh^^r^^T^P^^^d the profession command? waf Tro''?' ''''' requisition, and the m.n . , ?to"ght into and followed unn "'"''''^d industriouslv naught tI^ comnT'"^'^'^"^ '^'' "-^^ t^ demLd for s ere ^^ Ta"; ,h''T''^ "^ ^he Pling them. The eluir. a '•' '''" ^''^ ^"P- Wed to the defect'e SrceThe"h" ?"^'!.^ '''■ =aj?s:so^^£r^SsS^^ i".papersftogeSt,S=:^tSr io ''Something's H^rongf'^ of her as lasf ««.» .u slums bur wTuld con d"r hl""'f.' '''^ '" "'<' detailed detective to work up the" "P'^"'*"^ somebody would cet on Vk ^ , "*«' ^nd fore night. The Irlt .' 'I'""'' "^ ^er be- these Jords were spotT f'^"''' ^° ^''^'^ them, and his pallidTe '. '"'/ ^''^P^'^ °^" »t the thought. H s ' f • '" ^''°^ P'''" about in the flums" hewn!' ^''"u"'''^ '''''"^'^d meant to shield so' tendeZf" '"^''"' ^' ''»d of air outside of t^ie afe L ' 7."^ '"•'=«'' she belonged ' hI ', , ""^""'d to which thousand tfmts for h r own ' T l^" '"■ '''^- '} was his duty to shield h!^ n' ''f """''^ "ot; it well-nigh inpossble ''K^''^'" ' -"he had made of her suferetr„:v 'ieT^ t '^^'^^^ what he could. The utmn ? ""-t^ '""« do "'"St be insisted upj^ T.nJ^'f-' P"^^^^ the.r progress indefinr^ely "^'' '^ ^"'"•'^'^d though";"hev'SSd ft\ ^^"y°"^ -"'^-'•ed. hnes of thought ^'X somewhat different stanct; "°"Lt''J ?r ''" ^'^'^^'^ '"-'t to Con Richa;d. '^ifi^'r^i -d indefatigable 'o« child, remember ? ^''°"g\ «he were a f e know's ex"ctTy'^U,rs,t-i \ "^^ ^''« does not intend to be fn.J J' '*''°"^- She doubt that she has LT.. ' ^"'^ ^" "'^^d not not desiring it pli^^J ^° good reason for S i-nvacy, so far as ,t is possible '33 ^ "■ii Pauline, down on mv kne" '" ^ ^ V^or gn\ and go affcr that I m gh^t ab ' "f 'l ' f "' "'""^' with my sympath B,!. ? 'P ''" => ''""e blazon abra,dTrp,i"",j 7'" "''^ '^'='P ^" fellow would but td Jhe trui'^'"''"- "^"^^ we might know i,.«V I, c ""''• ^" f^at took. weiouMV"b tt:^:b:?o f-f^T steps to take ■ h,.f c r ? '^'^'^"^'^ what hi. trumped up IrT ^^'^J'l \v^r^^.X. in be ashamed, there is ^n.h^ ^^'c^ "" ^^^^ -"'ght and endurance " "^ ^"^ "" ''"^ ''i'^nce was'''t^'^i:£:"'l7eedwithhi,n,^^ ag-withwhtve.Xlrrurnd:'tHi.t^>'^ '34 XI. ^ State of Chaos. AS it became increasingly evident that the strange tragedy in whih they were hlv! mg a part could not be entirely hdden Kcnyont'-nJtrsTL;-^^^^^^^^^^ 'ng with an unspoken fear that t\^^A.J^T «ith°°.3 of f KmyoM, been «»ci,ied C2-J°^?,?i'-,r:eSr^-» '35 w I ;S Pauline. ers" and ren^^n t h!dtV"""'"">' '"' '""^■ trained nurses, as weR aT^h^ '^ •P°"°'-* ''"^ who waited for llrl^V)^^ T^'^^ multitude were alike hope wfej"' ^^'^^ ^"g^^er ,tjS-^re';er.and^ttirrs:;iou^^ even those wL had ?haken^7.«' ^-^P^^etic ; assured one another that fh^ "■ ^^^'^^ ^"^^ reason for his w fe^I ,?. ^'^ """'' ''^ grave heard that he was proHr '""[-''' ^''^" '''^X said that they tKX he ^/if'' ""'° '^^^h. punished, no mattefwh . )t^ ^^^" «"ffi<:iently had been ; and t"at Tf h' """.""f "'^ '''^ y°"th ^he really 'ougSt to eentl"' t''* ^"^ ''^«« his life bV cof^ing tot m Vntl ""t' ''^' the door of the room Zh' u ^ '''^^ haunted battle, and wavS n^ •*■' ^^ ^^^ ''^''''"g his with offers oreVervthinr'"?,"' l"*^ «««"dants the Kenyons and Tho "^ rt' "^.^ ^""- 0"ly held aloof. Richard r'^'-'J"'"^'* ^° ^hem to say that probab/the'S d '' '"." ''^^'"'^ -n could ^nowdo^^'r%notKst"^4'^ 136 ' ^ State of Chaos. come dead to all her frTenH l^ ^^^ ^""^ ^^- could be no pos ibt exnTanL'" '^'u ^^y- '^^^^'^ prove the m'an to SThrhad' "°"'' 1!°^ h«rt to be a liar and a^tard 1h^"'"u'^^*- P'tyor sympathy for such? ' "'^ '° ''"^^ op'nion.t'o descend to h"slever"n'^'" '"'^ did not attempt to argue bnt? ?'' ^^"y°" a sigh to drown hLT2 '"''"".'^ ""^^^ with which d,erc was abu^d.V^."' '" ^°^k, of Mr. Curtiss were ill hi^''/' !r'"y "'"'^es -i^h a sigh, to he ^ie IlS ?"''«^'l' ^'"o while she would not for^i, '^f^ghter that of wishing for anv n.^ ' ^T^^ ^<= g"'''ty things had^urnedLtTdid^ '"'''' T' «^ 't would be a little le;s htd f"" " "'^"^h stance and for all of them if ..f P""'" ^°»- d-e. _ In that case, they could h' "^^ ■^''""'^ people would forget abon^l ^^^ fl^^ i" time Jt was a despefate filh^ k^ 'i'^"'^^"' '^^^i'-- did not die Sth fnd\ ' ''.°''^°" ^""i^" and carefol living were all in l^°f ^""^^''tution was. one other^hing " ^^"^ J^'^"^- There not intend to die " said tU ,™''" '^O" c'an sententiously one m """"'""g P^si- ^own from the sU°--'a^-ht- ^1,7 I n ;|t ■ In ' Pauline. - there had come to h m a fhr,.,«k* • rP'=rmost, with Dilsev and h^ h,H ^''°T' ,'" connection '38 A State of Chaos. " Oh I didn't do nothing ! " said Dilsey, with radiant face, "there wasn't nothing I could do only errands and things; I kind ofTiung around ^ as to be handy, but there wasn't mucLhance Them trained nurses think they can do every- thing better tn,n anybody else. There wasn't mucj that I wouldn't have been real glad to doifthey'dlet me." ^ " I have no doubt of it," said Mr. Curtiss 1 hen he remained silent for so long that Dilsey stole anxious glances at him, lest he erect and composed, gazing thoughtfully at a sheet of paper spread on the Table before «,"" ^'"u*' ^ '°1 ''°'^ ^° P"' ^hat I want to say, he began at last. " Did I not hear in the spring, or at some time not long ago, that you were expecting to be married ? " ^ Dilsey struggled for self-control and failed and^put her neat white apron to her face and „„'k^^'u-^''-- ^""''' '*''^' '■^gret and sym- pathy m his voice, "have I touched a wound' 1 hope you wil forgive me; I am very sorry." It am t nothing," murmured Dilsey behind her apron; " I mean you ain't done nothing, ir. I m that silly- " She stopped, and le and Mr. Curtiss waited. At last the apron '39 mm Pauline. wasdropped and Dilsey's voice h,H -a . gone uncfer the contro/of her "ilf '""^'"'y it's four week! „ e he raT"' "'^^l^™-. and ""ght to be glad of til T^ ^'"^ ''*'" ' ^ carrying.onthatwav anH /. "I:. ^^^ "'"o*. that sh% wouldn't ^JiVtS 1 '^ "' ^' '^'X couldn't resDect • nn7 * ""n that she her." '''P"f ' and no more would I, I told "Of whom are you speaking, Dilsev?" day.?nVlTont;S;s?^^^^^^^^^^ Curtiss, and the wistful n!!^ • I.- ^^"^ Mr. started *DiIsey'; Tfrs afresh J""^'' ^°'^^ '*''"°" to tell me everythinL ^W ' '^r^ ^^^ ^"""g that day ? ^^"'^^^'''^ that my wife said to you r^L^'^i:^.^'^ \ «^-y - detail, h"ngrfforth:?oundof i:^:,7o" "'r ^''^ sympTSU^w^Luran """"J- ^^^^ ^ ^avehadtohearrbut^7^.&:■-^4l;--y 140 A State of Chaos. between men and wo.-nen that is not founded on respect is but another name for misery. My object in askmg you about yourself was to learn whether or not you were free to enter my employ, provided you should care to do so " Uilsey assured him volubly that she was free to go where she liked, and that she would rather work for h.m than for any man living. There followed a very careful statement from Mr. Curtiss of the plan that had come to him during his convalescence. It amounted to establishing Diisey as a sort of private detec- tive who was to be responsible to him only, bhe was the only one among them, he reminded her, who had seen that mysterious woman in black whose coming ha. seemed to cause his trouble. He confided to Diisey his belief that the woman s name was Pauline, and some of his surmises as to the possible nature of her ^7; "V!"P'"^««<=d fhe girl with the thought that to find her was only second in importance to discovering the whereabouts of his wife His plan was that they two, in their different spheres and with their widely differing oppor- tunities, should give themselves to the discover- ing of those two women. He proposed that Diisey should enter his service at once, and he promised to make it right with the manager of the hoteL She was to seek employment where «he would, furnished with abundant references 141 \ \ . -1 I Pauline, I w to her character and abilinVo j ; : Jer stay as long or aTsho^ ^f'lf"*^ *° '"'*'^«' ■ I best for the funhering of her '''^^""''idered i'^ . *^^^'" *^"-cumstances seemeW . ?'■''''■ ^'^«^"- ' 3he was to becle a boaS '"'''' '^ '^"'"''le 'servant, and to osten.Thl ',"''""'' °^« J^o^^e chose, while she ken? un^ ^'^ ''"^ ''"-^^ she the main object of Ter "P^?"™"" «" the time paid the whf b/he/em'!,? ""• ^t^ '""P'x comniunicate with M^ 7'°>:^'- She was to special messenger or teleiam'"' ^^ ^''''' °'- required, so as^to keen f ?/?, ""■*="'"stances I S ; any possible clew and ?h. ""^ P''"^'^ ^^ to ^' " ' ?J^ays attent for ^he ^t .?fM° ''^'P ''^^ ^'--s ;"«• ' At this point he 1 ^ """' " ^^"J- «n;^l.^x;;^p;;wh::^a?r^ I was a mfnd to and Lnr f *■■ ' '° ^^ ^'^^'"'^ hut I'll find em too- t/°'" f""- ''" ^''^k She hesitated fo^word .J "" '^'^^^'^^ives- " pressherscorna;Sf.re"^--ghtoex- in8^£e^^r^-?^5^--n.i.. ,,„,. put hefrt into him andth'"! '"r"^^ ^^^ <^- after her, havingXSthti^Srl^t! ^ State of Chaos. nopetul than he had for many days. There was another reason for this besides p.iseys sympathy and quick wittedness Mr Curtics beheved that in securing the help of this young woman he had been divlnei; dSted and the sense of assurance that the thought gave h,m was new and restful to his s?orm tZ rT'-. ^u'°r' ^^^ ""known to oE than God, he had passed through a cnlcial tTw mPTu""- ^''^" '"^^ tLught fi s took hold of his consciousness that he was " deserted man. that the wife of his chdce had twenty-four hours of the time when he had parted them, there came, along with his nain and shame, another fierce unrelsodng f eC tnought ot God, his mother's God. He had Xo"ha?"rSr'"'"V"5g'''"- *° '"'O e Who had ruled his mother's- life, but he had ^ec terHim''""'' "Pon the'fact th'at he respected H m, reverenced Him, and that at nubllf''"'l'"'^',''l''^ '™^ ^^ should probably pub hcly acknowledge the personal claims o? Christianity. He did not think that he beheved n^ any mysterious « change " of heart. To h' s mmd those phrases so often on the lins of a certain class of people, referred popSj to \ H3 I'M ill lil ' .11 Pauline. <|i8tinct effort of the will , ^ . the part of th*. \l^ j '. ' ^«fe™ He had told himself fiercely that he should not have doubted Constance though an angel from heaven had accused her; vet during these hours an imp of darkness r.ecmed to stand at his elbow and whisper about her • seemed to compel him to construct a plausible theory that would prove her only too willing to Ik free of him. Perhaps there was some one f.om whom she had supposed herself forever separated, and had too late discovered her mistake and was not able to bear its conse- quences There were hours when he hated iimself for such thoughts, but they came back to him It was while he sat alone one even- , ing III the grip of his misery that a letter was brought to him It was only a few days since he had been allowed to receive his mail, and he had watched eagerly for letters, always with the unspoken hope that one would come which would throw light upon the tragedv he was liv- ing. But on this evening the weight of his pain 148 The Unseen Force, had produced a sort of apathy. There was nothing to be hoped for frL letters, he told himself, nor from anything. He looked at the envelope indifferently, an3 was about to toss i! a"r«LTv *°'"t5 ."'her time; then a memory arrested him. That peculiar curve of the " G " could have been made only by his mother's friend Mrs. Ellis. Now that he thought of h.m; ^, had no friends; but it was strange, ^he had been so true to his mother, and to h m, heretofore. And he knew, although he there had been a homesick longing in his heart' for his mother: that one who fad been true to him with every breath of her earthly life. He had found himself going over in memory some witf "h?T'T- 'T^ °v'^ "^'y y^^th; when with his head m his mother's lap and her hand wandering among the masses of his hair he had poured out to her some passionate story of disappointment or fancied wrong, and her sym- pathy had never failed. Oh, fS'r a single C hour of his mother ! He tore open the envel- ope What if Mrs Ellis had bethought her- self of some word oUen, some incident of her ft"If him ? ^'^ "°' ''"°"' ''"'^ ^^^ *"«<=" 149 Pauline. This is what was written : — of hi?n,othcr" ''"'°" ^""'^^' "^^ '-'y -n "As one whom his mother comforteth so will I comfort you. -Thus saith the Lord!" in DrfvTr'^anH^""''' ^""^ "°'' "^'" »"' Relieved in prayer and m a covenant-keeping God he fcould not have explained why tLrf came to Z ' '" Ti '^^'^ ^ «"dden^ush of Sing s wftr/'^ h-T "J^^P"--'-. and swep awaf whiS he htd ^""1 '''!. ^?§^ °f ""''-•i-f in wnich he had enveloped himself, and made %Z ."^ °"' T'' ^ e--^" yearning cry. "O GodJ^^rny mother's God! give m'e h'eip i^ The connecting link in this chain of influ ence was that Mrs. Ellis, alone in he oom that afternoon, unable as she thought to mb .ster m any way to the son of her ffiend in the sore trouble that had come upon him dur „g ner absence from the citv v^f tW.^\,- '"& nestly of that friend ofl^; y' eh an^f X man tos.ng on the waves of an unusual storm be ed ?hJr'"/°"' '" '^°'"^°" ''in,, remem- timi t, '\''"f "'■""g "^f"^« 'here come Zc:Zk T I S"P '''^" ^^^-^ it did in child- hood, and chngs, and draws, and sometimes »5o I The Unseen Force. wwj, despite all obstacles. And she said to herself: « Did ever son have truer, sweeter mother than did Gordon Curtiss ? Did ever son love mother more than did he? If l' rauld but help him through his mother!" 1 hen she bowed her head on the table before her and prayed for the son of her friend, i-rayed as those pray who have been long used to taking hold on God and waiting for their answer and following its guiding^ Prayed that Gou would give her a word to speak to that tossed and well-nigh shipwrecked soul that would anchor him and holdxxniA the storm was past. And so praying she heard her answer, h ni'ght not go to her friend, for she was herself ill, but she could write, and God could go to him with her message. She knew what the message would be as well as though she had heard audible voice speak the words to her human ears — so plainly does God speak to those who wait upon Him thus. « As one whom his mother comforteth, so will I comfort you. — Thus saith the Lord." Not another word save the signing of her name. Then she folded and addressed and sent the letter with such assurance that it would be used of t'Od, as those who do not pray in faith, and act upon their answers, cannot and will not understand. There was much about it all that Gordon ! f iif! !:. Pauline, Curtiss did not understand, that he never fully understood, although in after years he studied deeply into the subject, and tried to grasp as well as he could with finite mind the mysteries that belong to God. But one thing he knew, and knew it with a certainty that was never afterward shadowed by a doubt; that there came to him a sudden mysterious change, un- explainable by human reasoning, that took hold ,upon his very springs of thought and converged them into new channels. " Saint Paul and I are very sure of certain k-"^^'. • **"^ *° ^'■*- ^"'* "«" '°"g after this ; " It seems to me at times as though we had had much the same experience. Almost 1 feel like saying that literal scales fell from my blind eyes. I had never conceived of a l-orce outside of myself as able to take hold of and hterally make me 6ver! but nothing less than that has been done for me." And yet he knew, as surelv, that there was • human side to it all. No clearer than he felt the unseen Force that took hold of his being and changed its trend, had he felt, before that the Power that said to him : « Choose. I am waiting. That omnipotent will of yours must ha^^lts way ; God has so ordered it. No cry to Hini ever yet went unheeded, nor ever will ■ T^^^..^? ''"• '^^'^ Triune God waits for you ! Will you let Him take hold of our 152 The Unseen Force. case? Remember, once for all, it is as you will." " And I felt," said Gordon Curtiss afterward, in talking about this with one who was eager to hear and to question, and to hear again every word and thought connected with that momen- tous time, " felt distinctly that it was the last \ waiting ' which would be done, for me. I real- ized, as if revealed in a flash of God's own light, how innumerable had been my calls, how pa- tient had been the waiting ; how certain it was that His Spirit would not ' always strive.' If an angel visible to human eyes had been sent to tell me that I must choose then and there for all time, I do not think I could have been more sure of it." It was therefore this changed man who sat with (juiet face and resolute will, and planned for Dilsey and for himself a systematic search for the two women who had disappeared. Along with the calm that his new experience brought had come back his assured faith in Constance; though it had really not faltered, save when he was mentally unbalanced; he could even afford now to almost smile over some of the horrid fantasies that had disturbed his illness. Constance was true in every fibre of her being ; some terrible blow had fallen upon her: he must give his life to finding her and righting her supposed wrongs. >S3 I i ,■ i Pauline, When Constance Curtiss walked away from her husband s rooms that day, she had no defi- nite plan as to where she would go or what she would do. One consuming idea possessed her : that she must get away as soon and as far as possible from the man whom she had called her husband. It was characteristic of her that she did not even think of taking refuge in Deeo- water. The old life of care-free girlhood was dead, along with the new life of wifehood that had seemed to dawn so radiantly for her : hence- forth she was to be a new creature, unknown to any who had belonged to her past. Not that she planned this, she simply felt it, and follow- ing its instinct, covered her retreat without even studying to do so. She turned from the part of the city with which she had been familiar, and plunged into the rush of life still farther down town ; walking quietly, and looking to all out- ward appearance like dozens of other well- dressed women intent upon their own business, bo walkn.g she reached presently a railroad sta- tion with which she was entirely unfamiliar, and joined the crowds who were hurrying to make a tram. En<-ering a car with many others she dropped into a seat beside a woman with a bun- dle and a baby in her arms ; almost immediately the train started. By request she held the baby while the woman fumbled for her money and paid her fare, mentioning a place unknown to '54 The Unseen Force. Constance. The act recalled to her the fact that she had no ticket. A man seated behind them touched the conductor's arm : — " When do we get to Rockport ? " he asked. " Eight o'clock," said the conductor. Be- cause once, years ago, when she was a child, — an eternity ago it seemed to her now — Constance had gone to Rockport with her mother, she determined to pay her fare to that place. It was in another state and far away from this, but the name held her thought long enough for her to say " Rockport " and hand up a hve-dollar gold piece to be changed. Thrust into the small hand bag that she carried was her uncle's latest gift. He had slipped it into her hand as he bade her good-by with a word that both had expected she would recall with a smile, and that both now recalled with a shiver ; one of those careless jests that sometimes take on awful met- ing afterward. " Here is something for you when you get tired of your husband and want to do a little private skirmishing on your own account." No wonder that Constance shivered, June day though it was, as she recalled the words. It was this gift which had enabled her to go away quietly and respectably. It was a purse, and it held one hundred dollars in gold. She had employed some of her lonely moments that morning in examining its contents, and had Pauline. show the gift to"h:;tsbaS.''''*' '"^°"*'" ^° feache ?"• •^''"^^^"'^^ could easily be a nev. The Unseen Force. aroused by the guest, there was scarcely even interest; it was a common occurrence. The chamber-maid reported to the cook that the "new lady" was not "fussy"; she took the first room that was shown to her, and didn't want any extras. Neither did she want any supper; but that, too, was not unusual. Guests from the eight o'clock train very often did not care for supper. When Constance at last turned the key upon the neat maid who had filled her water pitcher and brought her fresh towels and waited re- spectfully for further orders, she drew a long (uiivering breath of— was it relief? At last she was alone ! The tension of holding herself m rigid check, so that the world would not look at her nor think about her, could be laid aside for a few hours. She could think, she could plan, without the terror of feeling that curious eyes were watching her. Yet, — could she thmk ? could she plan ? Was it really she — Constance Kenyon, — no, Constance Ciirtiss — No ! oh no, a thousand times no ! Never that name ! she had no right to it. Was it only this morning ? Was it not at least a hundred years ago when she was young and happy that she had said that name over to herself, to get used to it, always with a smile and a blush .' Oh ! what would become of her ! Would she go insane ? Had she perhaps gone insane al- ^17 lii Pauline. of screaming out Her m?,!! » P'^°P«r'y. '"stead She claspedVr handsTn ,7.- 'L' S'P'"^ *°''d ? nails cut imo thrdel ' Jfl '^ u' «"P "'^ ">«= '■"I them. She walked .hf i**"' ^'''= '^''^ "« down.upanddownS2r/' •"r" "P ""^ clutchecfattheribb;„;S[w?'"^''"^'''^'''"'^ focatmg her. She ston-^ j "*'"'^"«'»s ^uf- in.the Middle of the 3'^ T'^ "C^'^ 'l"'^- "i" physical terror in her suff' ''^'""''.ng very like herself. fVas she^Lt '"^ "^y" ' f*='-™'- of despite all the awL^rr^^ •'" \"^""' ''^^^ »". herfelf thro.gJot ' tha^^t ^'o^" ""^ famtness that was nv^L"' • y.' O"" was it should lose co„rcL:::;x;;^^„;-.. '' '^- they find her >. And if fh» !•! '^ "°^> *o"'d in some way thafshe be Sn^'^'^' '1°"''^ '"^^^ ""d she had thought tLt^g*^'.^ ''■'"- Perhaps the sfran^e fL?" ^"'''"g^'^ *« ^im ? at the^hought a '.lomenf '"'"!' '^^"'^ ' »"d lighted up hfr desp; r if'7 6'^="" of hope ^et she knew TJ'7 ''^V°"''ll^"tdie! was strong and w 1 a^^^'v'^ T ^'^^ ^^- rejoiced i? her pe fec7 he°al I'' ^^7 ^¥ ''^''^ conuitution. She wo' Mr ""^ spjenjij beanold.oId,37wo° ', rt' P'"^^'''-^' ^^ of misery seized he7X" ^•'''' *^^"' '^'"^•^h spoke, «0 God ••• ct •^^""' '"'^ *''^" she fell down on her kn^s' ""' "° ^^'^•"' -d XIII. " The Anchor Held." THERE arc probably few people, com- P'7"r^'y.'-hohavespententirenX on their knees before God. The X have followed His lead etr^in' hisfw"" tt reached some solemn milestone in thJr life's journey. Such a time had assuredly cTmetn Constance Kenyon. When she feFupoTh r knees, ,t was with a feeling that she mu,^finH he p somewhere or give ov^er the t^Z^ ^t agSl' .^Go'd^s trTefogfri sTretth "" f,;nl u '*'■'"" *''" '^''d helped the dvina SJd t"T ^''^"fth had faSed her.Thf needed to be remmded of the Strength that '59 1 1 '; Pauiine. ent help in trouble "Wa,' ^ ^^'T/'""- hclp ? Yet could l,.r . ''*'" ""'■^ ""d for hope to clahn thol n ''^'"P"'-*"''"^ »o"l ever though tt ea«h do Chang?-' " "" "°' *» ^«' ovi'rlladfwSng'jint"' ''"^' ^'°" ""'" '"» of)l.Vtretrc^ie7ii?„3'' ?^ -'"■'«• -- haa thought sh: couldTeve^doir "'" ^'^ rush of tears thaf -, jl S"" ~ » great heart and qdeted th. fu'' ?u- ""«"^' "her Long afterSad she 5nM°'-"f °^ ''" ^^'"■"• abouf this Xf a d'evTr ^e^fei^b"' V '"^^ to one who. she felt, haS a rSht To f ""'t' the attempt was vain Vt ^ ° ''^"^ ^"t riences that cannot t . !^^''"' ""^ '°'"«= «?«" all. I can on"" jTyou^" hTs^.-H^^^'u " ^^'^'• tears shining in her^ye's ^tA ^"^g'-"*^^' That word^ame to^me a so • aV"'''^ ^"'''• the soul, sure and steadfls?' °' ''"'''°' ^° up iV'on':-:'n::n,tr to^? ?V?"'^ ""-'l the storms come '^^ '° ^' '='"' ''"'^ ^''when entlrtd sti7:«;ri ;'?"'• '^^T '^'X^'-ak wreck, but Go^Saini'f ' P^- ^""^ ''"«"<=^«d shadowed her^^rhTr-th'^^X^-r^^^^ 1 60 ' (( The Anchor HeUr ■»e anew, bhe wou d work af c^.v.. j ° S iJ 't o'LTr 7'"'" ''"•"i" »»' >« i6i ' Pauline. Mi I do not feel the least desire to teach. If I did It at all it would be simply because I did not know of any other way to earn mv living, and I should despise a teacher who liad that only for his motive." " How many teachers do you suppose have very niuch loftier aims than that?" would Kichard the sceptical inquire. His cousin would laugh and say that she , hoped hundreds had ; but if such were not the case, she would never swell the number of sordid souls who simply taught to live. That she believed in her high standard she proved by not so much as considering the position of teacher when she planned to become self-sup- porting. She had no fears of the future in this direction She had often affirmed that she should feel humiliated for her sex if a woman young and in good health, with a fair propor- tion of education and common sense, could not support herself in any town of reasonable size that she might select; and when the testing hour came, her theories stood quietly beside her waiting to be carried out. Her first needs were clothing and a trunk in which to pack it. She determined to buy her railroad ticket to the first city that she recog- nized on the time table, and make her pur- chases there. She would not begin her new life by appearing among strangers with whom 162 ^^The Anchor HeUr dccent livincj. """""" that telong to ocJ^ri'%'::'^^:v ?"' p'«"h.dit «fter her w „ • - L, 1" T '''" ""«=''«'" fled. No thou 'u V ' •■" ' "'f '""=^ ""d baf. was all ve., l ' , '''^ "7 °"*^ ""^"^h? It Instinctivelv sh ■ i T " "'?•" ^ig • Me had deserted his wife „« j ■ ■ boy! it was monstrou ! h;~^„Tj ^"^ ''« tempt to condone it, yet she to7d h. if l"" he might have had fearfi.l • "*="^ ''''t fifl Pauline. This bcng settled, when they two should confront h.m at his hotel and prove themseXes to be still ,n the flesh, what was there 5t fo wife InH / "'■knowledge and ca.e for his w fe and son ? What was there for her to do but to go away as fast and as far as she could, and leave h.m to attend to this awful duty ' It was all so plain to her; she had no thought of making tragedy for herself; it had been mfde tor her; she must only try to help right it in the least ternble way. Her friends at home, her uncle and R.chard. would understand tha here was nothing for her, of course, but to stand out of the way of honor and decency. They would undtsrand also, and instinctively she gave the new aunt credit for helping them to see this point clearly, that altogether th^ wisest plan for her was to go directly so far away that they could not conveniently come to fhe 'k"?' T '° ''''''"r '^ ^^^'^ ^"i^V would have the best of excuses for not trying to come to rhJ; J^^°"^,^^«'"^"y be clear to them all tha absolute silence between them for a time Could she be expected to go back to Deep- water and try to live the old life over again only forty miles away from that home, and tha^ man, and that woman ! Her whole womanhood rose up ,n revolt She almost thanked God on her knees that this part of the martyrdom was 164 '''The Anchor HeUr unnecessary and would but make add^H „ • for others. No dutvrali»^ u l . °**^ P*'" slip into oblivion Af fi. f Y ^^^^'■** '« that by and by she wouM -^^ ^"^t ^^"^^^^ and let him know th J K ""■"" '° ''" ""^^^e her equal ohS own « '^ •""""'""^ ^'^^in understand why she coT"' '"'^ '^^^^ ^°"'d them, and J not write "°' ^'""^ ''^^'^ '° t"s'2e:si;;dr"h'^ ^5" r^'S'nd Rain •' She h!^ -r ^''^ s'dewalk as a « har- vard the conducL'ofVe:: ''°'^' '''" '""^ "^^ a womanwhosa"?th5i "", '"^'^""""end to a quiet, co^ruble Jlacr^Shr ' ''"'/ri^^'' -n^ to the place andtgagelt^o^^^^^^^^^^^ 165 Pauline. ing that she was in town to do shopping and awav h."r^ ' ' r'''"S ^^"""^ i" whi^t^^^'ry seated a Sv' hT' '^ l''''""'' '''« ^l' "h3 sciccrea a city that was a shopp ne centre inr , sariesl Jooke^d at frL h ''°"g''5°"'y "«^es- m,j '""^cu ai from her standpo nt She made no effort to explain toherself Shv the few ready-made dresses that she bought were black but she had regard to what she might try o do' rst^^rrLr^-'^^^^^-'^- )Xr:J!^rt t^ '^^y-^'^out sense ' ratigue, upheld by the necessity that was uoon her for maintaining a rieid au\^, Zf a^- and sauintr «^»i,- ° o. *l"'^f> and doing mi^hrr^i '"S/°"'^'f^ suspicions which «.l«ry.„d „„h.d „„, ,o look „ ij^d ." 1 66 (( The Anchor Held. >> po..r«i all „,h„ felbpTlhS" i"'' °X .hc'hoS" °'°"""' °' "■'»' ■'" " !>£ .i "You will pk„j register," the clerk k.H »«id »hen ,he died for . ,o„T A ,L5 «r™r h.d .i„d upon her. °°Sh/ j/fe &"he»t;-,e^X-,r-' 'i^^^H^rsJS Kenvon"^ h1 m ?!'' "'""^' "Constance GolTS-ortt" Xtrjei^- ^^^ a memory. Her name h.H 1 "P°" ''" yon; it Ls Stuart She borrh ''''" l^'"" fi"" name. - Constance ^Elinr S trt^'ft" ' true that she had not written it nor L a ' a worH J . P^" "^^^ P'"'«d to her with a word of apology, and she wrote with sw[ft 167 Pauline. .she stood waiting 't^:^ £ 5^^^^." fc :;^i:^%ti;rH-ti„^g'Sf:r ing for heUa ie fhoTe'r '^ '"" ^^'" where all tlie aoDointm . ^ '^"'^ """eet It was already pEderwlth .T ^'=''P^«''''le. hoped that another which f ' '° ,<^°"?f'>nce add would meet with no K- "^'^^^ ^'^^ ^o to be almost an partln^-'T"" ^' ^'"""^^ scale. A widow ^nH if ?'^ ""^ ^ small ters had rented it b the t'"'''^'] '^^"?''- the rent and adding omethin^To t' "^^H 'ncome by sub-lettiL .p^'""S f° f^e.r small vacant, a pleasant If^ '■°°'"' ^"^ still back. and^wS^^ortalr'raireV ^['■^'^ \''' the landlady considered ;; '^'°^"5 ^ut in triumph^o the win ' T'"' ""'^ P"'"^^^ her. Th^e rent starTled r """"'"'^ ^'''• ^o"bt!;hett^^:^^^or.2.pj_ I ^^The Anchor Held:^ The results. 'P"""" =*' *" «"d trust for falVsTrantrin'lh''^'''""^ '^"- ^mtow. out brothers^oVsiste ' '^"r '" '''•P'''" ^'^h- who have ^r.ZnZl'rt ". TY ^'•°'" =»" had in order to support .teV'^Vfe?"'"^- ' that I can do it hnf ,,^ "lyseif i fed certain Mrs. Bristow nodded sagely. some kfnd th!rLn'?'°"''"' S°' ''='«'°"'' of for yourself Thv're no"' ^°." '° "^" °"^ they?" ^^ '^ P"^'' and proud, ain't f««- Ho«. V,., ,1,. . "S*" "«>li ™ her 169 Pauline. got to risk something if you live int'hisworW todo'r'^If'P''''^ '"-g^- What yo^g: g to do ? If you mean to try for a place to teach you might as well give up first as fast There^' a doien teachers standing around wait ng fo was a year and two months finding a place and she was the best scholar in her cfass C " Constance had not been used to close au« «omng as to her movements, and the S deepened a l.ttle on her face. She assured^ he of makinralh^r ^'k^ ''' '^' ^ '"-i- or making a thirteenth at any of the waiting fclf^'f,''"'''"'^"' '^' '"«de no a«e2 to satisfy her curiosity. P "Well," said the widow asain afrpr on^*u reflective pause, " I'm sureTCpe vouTfin'J in the world to do I ran f •' ., r '^"".'5 alone in a big t/ :!Lt S/r *-'" shou dn t like one of my girls to be do ng it and that s the truth. But then you savvour A mist floated for a moment before Con- 170 i< The Anchor Heldr vo.ce. d her desSate'h^rttA"! 7" st "solved upon a degree of franknVsl ^''' XIV. I s I The Leaven Working. WILL tell you, Mrs. Bristow, what I jnean to try to do to earn my Hvit . There'' "" ^"'^ ^ '''^"^ planned ft! w hJw^t^dT^rrTrgetx^tv mejjd laces and „Kt g^rrairy^d Ta iS tLTV^ ""..'^f''' '"'^ "'■"ch lace curtains so ?oVe ?h:'"/°°' ""^ ^''°"g'^ J-» f-- t e lad«' ,„H r "" '"'''^^ J""'« and marma- Jound ""o? ^ickt 'an"d' ^° ^''""°'' '^'^ ""^ nr,f »K- I P''^'"'"g and preserving. Do vou who w^uVh ',r '>°"««''«epers\ this c^^^ for such wor'kT-'"^ ^^ '^'"P'"^ ""^ ''^ ^"^ 4 Nel'^Fn^l^'i'T'' ''^^°'" ''"'^'fh her thrifty •New England education to aid her had ^1 .stenmg with the keenest interest 'xSe 1^ and neckwear had not appealed very svmT thetically to her plain life IlnH-. ^^^pa- she would have ad^mitted'that iJ^^a: « nTc^.^- 172 The Leaven IVorking. be able to do them up, but a poor way to make a Imng. When however, th'e formidable ik cst, and by the time she had in imagination gone through the processes of canning and pre- serving they were dilated with pleased wonder. hil . k"* '^u''"?'" "^"''- '^"^ '""" you'd Jure out by the day, and go htre and \here *nd everywhere, and do up such work? Well now, I shouldn't wonder^ bit if you'd have your hands running over full in canning and curtain time. But folks don't preserve^ nor wash curtains much, winters," she added,' with sudden thrifty caution. "What vou fZL'" '^''f^"^ Do you calculate '^on fnTe^S'. '" ^" ''"' '^''^ y°"^ "^^^^ ^t^xZ'^T "l' ''*ly ^'"" ^^'- She had not studied plans through the weary hours of her journey without having furnished herself for all seasons. S^°\ ^^^ ?''''^i "" ■' "■"« fhat people do not can fruits in winter, but thev eat cake and homemade candies and all sorts of little fancy dishes that are some trouble to make. More- over, they sweep and dust a great deal at all seasons. Jn a few homes of .Moderate mL wnere no regular help i, kept. 1 believe I c^uTd '7/ li hi! Pauline, train them to expect me one day in the week to put .n perfect order certain rcims. I Tve thought also that m some homes where but one ma.d ,s kept, and where the parlors are filled with pretty tnfles that the maid does not know how to care for, I n,ight create a need fo my services. At least I intend to try what can U over/-'" such directions after the fmit season rini'.^^"-" ^^'i ^^- ^"*'°* ^°'- fhc dozenth nnle durmg that interview. «' I believe you'll do! You ve got the neatest lot of ideas I've whlTw. ^ '^^Ne- E"g'-d. and that wa wll \ u ^""u \' '* '!""'• *° «"« that no- body has thought of such a thing before: at least nobody round here has ; maybe they Ve been doing It for years at home. But it will work ^ZU ""V u'"- ^^^7' ^'^"^ g«' a crate of Le^ h' '" ^''^.^°"^t "^'^ '"'"'"« that I've been dreading ],ke the toothache. It's hard work to fuss over such things all alone, and do all the housework besides. The girls have to go so far to school that they don't |et any time to lelp me. I believe I'd be wiRing to take so,n= of my rent in getting them canned, if you really know how to do tSem v,p nice. What you going to charge ? " Constance, who knew it was the peaches and T^h.I\ ''""g'^'^'-^ t'^^t the worthy woman wished to have canned, named the sum she 174 The Leaven JVorking. had thought of proposing for a half day's work in this direction. It was modest, being based on her know edge of what unskilled labor com- "landed by the hour in Deepwater. Mrs. Bristow nodded in approval. " That's good ; you don't mean to kill your- self before you begin, I see. by charging awful prices. Well" now, supple we exSI? ment on ,t nght straight off.? You may Vake the rooms without any references, and if brother Jmi thinks when he comes that I'm a simpleton, why he may think so; be won't have to lose anything by it. I'd like real well A rV^^'i^ °^'' """^ ""^^ ''°* yo» «:om» out. And this afternoon, if you want to-do it. you may go down to my kitchen and can Ihose peaches; that will make a beginning; and if mI "T i''" '^'^^ ^°V°" '° '"y neighbor Mrs. Jenkins, and my friend Mrs. Clarke J hey both do lots of canning, and are always groaning over what a job it is^' fii"i''"t'*7i!* "'"?'" P'^"" '^^' before the first week or her exile was completed, Ellen Stuart was fairly launched in her new work. Mrs. Bristow s peaches were such a complete success that that good woman delighted in sounding their praises, with immediate results. Moreover, her odger further reduced her rent Z. M '"^P """'" ^""^ '^""''•"s that, to take Mrs. Bnstow's word for it, were "just fkll- '7S li MICROCOPY RESOtUTION TBT CHART (ANSI ond ISO TEST CHART No. 2) 1.0 ^^ 1^ II N IIIIM _^ APPLIED IIVMGE In ^K 1653 East Moin Street S^S Rochester, New York 14609 USA ^5 (716) 432-0300- Phone ^= ;716) 286 - 5989 - Fox Pauline. ing to pieces before our eyes, and that eirl ?n s"tlh '" '"'^ '''t'^ '^^^ '^"d rinsed th?; n starch water and stretched them till thev looked as though I had put my hand in mf pocket and pa.d for them out of the storL" a?I expected to ; she does beat all ' " Such testimony brought further opportunity to show her skill, and before the summer waned Ellen Stuart found herself obliged to give a portion of every evening to tL writing of work ppon her was now so great that she could make no new engagements until later in the season. There had ceased to be any question even m the mind of Mrs. Bristow as iTvini ^h""f 7T'"'' "^'"^y *° «^r" her living She had distinctly "created a want." The homely domestic lessons that the aunt it ^Ta "VT "1 '''*^^" ^"^^ "^efully taugh the child of her love were bearing interest. ^ There was a sense in which this strange new hfe was not an unhappy one. It mav he questioned whether thT word in itT Lie meaning can ever be applied to any person upon whom the peace of^bod has setded? l" LTdZ h'"' ""' '"""''^ P'*^^^'' Constance found her days more endurable than she had dared to hope. She kept herself exceedingly busy, working with a sort of fever of hafte over her appointed tasks, and accomplishing The Leaven W^orking. "^Z^A '" "" 17 '*'?" ^V employers had sup- posed possible. In this way she kept the when the day was done her body demanded Still there were times when memory insisted upon having its way and taking her over every step of her recent sunlit and then storm- centred past; and she lay and thought, a^d thought, and moaned inwardly, untilshe was driven again and again to her Refuge. In anchoT^helH' ^T '""^^^'"g'y ^"•"^ tLt the anchor held. Sometimes she found herself wondering If the blackness of darkness, so S sari to Tf r^r""''^--^^ ""' always neces- sary to a soul before it learned to hide com- P etely. Certainly the religion of Jesus Christ had never been to her happy girlhood or her glad young womanhood what%he had now found It to be. Still, that was natural; when one feels no need for refuge, why seek f^r it > rhere were other signs of growth in her b^ir'^J l'^'- J!^'' y°""g -«'"-. who had beheved herself done with human friendships, and almost with human interests, began to have a healthful interest in the lives of others, of a sort that was new to her. She began to realize that heretofore she had lived in L own fe choice circle with httle thought for those out- side of ,t. Not that she had leen indifferent to '77 m M l.fS Pauline. human pain or sorrow. On the contrary, she had been distinctly recognized as her uncle's assistant in all -his plans for relieving physical pain or discomfort, and many a sick-room had had abundant occasion to bless her. Still, her thought for others heretofore had found expres- sion in furnishing a foot-rest for some weary limb or an extra pillow for i- aching back, or a toothsome morsel for a f ,ring appetite, or a lovely picture for tired eyes to rest upon. Al! beautiful ministrations as far as they reached. It seemed strange to the prematurely grave woman who sat and thought about them that she had been content to reach no farther. There was that Mrs. Barnes in whom her uncle had been so interested,*and for whom she had contrived the head-rest, with his assist- ance ; Mrs. Barnes slipped out of life one dav, despite all the skilled care bestowed upon her. The watchful physician had known that this was the way it must end, and Constance had known it also, yet never had she, while brush- ing the invalid's long hair, trying in this way to rest the weary head, said one word about the One who could pillow her head on His breast and give to her eternal rest. Mrs. Barnes was a member of the church, and Con- stance, when she heard one morning that the tired little woman had gone away, remembered that, and was glad. So unused was she to 178 The Leaven Working. ministry of this kind that it did not even occur to her to regret that she had never tried to soothe the weary one with words of the Mas- ter's very own, and to remind her, when the pain was wearing, of the "rest that remaineth." The truth is, Constance Kenyon had lived her quarter century of happy helpful life, with- out ever having spoken directly to as' '- soul, outside that narrow home circle ot about that other world toward which ail were journeying. It seemed almost incredible to her now that such was the case ; the relative importance of the two worlds had changed so utterly in her view. Yet at the time it had seemed natural enough. It was not the custom in Deep water to be communicative on such subjects. The circle in which she had always moved belonged distinctly to the old-fashioned aristocratic world. Not the world of society exactly, though there was much of that in their lives; yet they lived above its common whirl and rush. They were refined, cultured, intel- lectual, in their tastes. They read books and magazines and discussed zestfully together cur- rent literature. They were music-loving people and ecture-going people — ves, and religious people, with decided views. They distinctly frowned upon many of the modern customs ot the fashionable world as altogether beneath rational religious beingo. They attended gen- ^79 I,) Pauline. \u I ) crally the mid-week service in the old First Church, which was almost an aristocracy by Itself, so time-honored were its ways, and so distinguished were many who had belonged to its past. They even ordered their social life with a view to keeping their engagements out of collision with this mid-week service as much as they conveniently could, and prided them- selves upon so doing; and in many other re- spects were models of propriety. Without any question they were Christians, many of them. Living their old-fashioned lives of introspection and secrecy; being indeed as carefully secret about anything that had to do with their inner experiences as the stratum of society below them believed that it must be about love and marriage. Constance's beloved aunt had spent all her life ip such an atmosphere as this, and had been a shy, quiet woman, not given to doing starding things in any direction. Yet siie had managed to impress her own household to an unusual degree with a sense of the reality of her religious life; and Constance, thinking it all over in the light of her recent knowledge, felt that she had come to understand what the lingering wistfulness of tone and manner meant in some of her uncle's patients when, having done her best for them, they would say, "After all. Miss Constance, there is nobody in 180 The Leaven JVorking, the world quite like your dear aunt." Con- stance was sure now that her aunt by those suffering bedsides must have overcome her natural timidity and the force of long habit, and whispered of One who could hold their hands and pillow their heads and give them His rest. And then it seemed to her amazing that she had never thought to do so. Her environment would in part account for it. The Christian Endeavor movement that had been slow in reaching Deepwater, and even when It came had not been taken hold of with the power that had characterized it in many places, had not touched Constance at all. She was a young woman of twenty before she even heard much of the movement ; and the young people of the First Church who finally took shy and questioning hold of it were distinctly younger «ian herself, and she gave them little heed. This she knew would account for much of her apathy, but not for all of it. The foundation reason was, and with grave wide-open eyes she distinctly saw it, that she had never loved God "with all her soul and with all her heart and with all her strength." Her Aunt Margaret had, she was sure of it. And that was what had made the marked difference in her sweet quiet, busy life from that of other busy people! It was a life that had always been something of a mystery to Constance, now she knew that its l8i f I' '^< Pa I line. secret springs had to an unusual degree tak^n ho d UDon GnH Ti,»„ 7 "'^s'^^c taicen of this Shp ^k u c\ """^ abundant proof needed to have done h1 1 C '^°f°'' developed i„ his ntlt.o'^pTer %'o7staS a drunk a. whose g.^^Sfath^^td'btn 7n atheist of the most offensive sort _ that limmL ^pl= who kne» hi, inheri...^ °„?f„?°°r 182 The Leaven JVorking, People noticed and smiled over his devotion to her ; but they said it wasnV =.f ,ii V ;n„ A T^^ y^''" ■f"""''^ ^0"ld be preach knew that t was her aunt who would preach he ever astmg gospel, using Jimmie's lip^that Christ.^' herself trained I speak for'}esus The result of all this looking back and thinking back while at the same ffm k understand that a life hfd'w S Chr^t i„"r 'h meant a great deal more than It seem d to mean to many neople, meant more, far more thTn^ tht kT„!:>'°". T''^' '^ ''-• She Snd th the kingdom of heaven was "like leaven which a woman took and hid in three mic c meal iinn'l fk u I ^ measures of meal until the whole was leavened." That described her aunt's life, but came nowhere in K'^.^f her own. When had she tried o hide the leaven of the gospel ? She hJn K mterested in, absorbed f„ Terselff ^V^tn're i^v2^eS^:^oSur:^;;;tmS hidden his in a napkin, her conscience toS her 183 m Pauline. liV 'D„V*'°"J^"" '" "'°"S!?* «'»« had been like that wicked servant, ^his did not do her justice but she believed that it did who had k''""'' '^V^' "-'I i' ^- *hl God who had been true to her, although she was so false to the trusts he had imposed, to order all her future very differently. oraer all II ritf » 184 'i XV. ''The Stately Lady." THE newly awakened woman realized that opportunities for service were abundant. Th«re. for instance, was the woman who had received her into ^i^ZlT^ '■■""' ""''°"' r^f^ences/and with very little money. A woman who had int^e'ed'ir'i; ""' '° ""''' ''"'' ^^ "''«"' interested m her experiment, but elated over .ts success. Mrs. Bristow, she had reason to fear, was a stranger to the blessing of daTy liy! ng m the presence of the Lord^ She wa ' herTof 'r.?'^'L"P"eht woman who ordeid her household with integrity; she had ^vZa heart and a ready hand L L needs of othJs day unless she ; ad overworked on Saturday or the day proved too warm or too cold or too damp; she Iked to have her daughters arSv themselves in their finest, of a bright Sabblth oTt&l"'"^" °^ 'Z '^''"-'^ wlh the be« ot them, but It was to be feared that she lived as prayerless a daily life as though she hal 185 l^-'l Pauline. m B.ble or^y to dust it. What could Constance do for Mrs. Br.stow and her daughters 'She was th,nking about then,, she was^rajing for warmucJ.*'" ""'''''"« ''" opportunity Tthat There were others; among them d youne fellow of sixteen who had intrited a delicatf constitution and a troublesome cough, and wl hL hi 1 f ^' "T '"'^ '•"klesslv indifferent to his health the other half Constance had be- come an important factor in his home, espe- cmlly dunng his frequent illnesses, and Tad opportunity to see him almost daily. It was during a canning experience of some of the late fruits that she first heard much about him His mother and the cook were consulting as to what they should try next to tempt Fred's un- certain appetite. Constance, as she skilfully filled her last jar. asked if he liked a concoction known as orange cream, and explained that she had often prepared it for the patients of ! physician. The mother had nev^er heard of >t, and Questioned with such interest that it upoTFreH"'°Th"""'"^ ^° °''^'- ^^'^Perimen upon Fred. The experiment proved a success and the pleased mother lost no time in learn n' about otiier dishes; with the result that Con^ stance almost added a new branch to her de- partment of work, and became in certain circles i86 ^^rhc Stately Ladyr an authority on daituv dishes for invalids Not for nothing had she spent years in attend- ing upon and often anticipating Or. Kenyon's wants for his sick people. Fred, having partaken scveml times of the new dainties prepared expressly for him, devel- oped a wish to see their creator, and as every wish he ever had in his life had been gratified, so far as possible, of course this one was. It took him less than an ho' r to discover that Constance could both talk ; i read ; and before the two weeks of this particular imprisonment passed they had become excellent friends. "It is such a comfort to have a re; '-r for Fred whom one can pav bv the hov " his mother said with a sigh of relief as she recounted to a caller the new occupation of Kllen Stuart. "Fred delights in hearing her; he says she reads more understandingly than we do ; fancy It . And she talks the book over with him afterward in a way that he enjoys. She really seems to have an excellent education for a working girl. Fred says she knows more about books and authors than he does; but then, he is always partial to the people whom he happens to fancy." While the mother thus lightly dismissed her from her thoughts, Constance was revolving in her mind problems of vital interest to the frail careless boy who would be almost certain sooner . 187 Pauline, be one J^ hlltet^^^LSetr answer to be „,ade to that question? ^^ • ef?e„l^:rrS:eLtte^.--^^^^^^^^ bleness which chtatwze'32rw1Sl' thT "' serious illness that his familyirE^'S' ing, and that he apoarentlv La k„ ^ came upo„ p pTdT'n^d'for dT^ "S Constance, who was almost instaHed T thl SJ tirh"'"' ^^""^ ^"'^ gene^ri atte V„t over YoLth . •^PP^r".""^ ^""^ '^is one wa r„d thZ '^ triumphed once more, however ana there came a dav when V^^a i • ""f^j delayed by his be« .nH^K >f ^"g^S^'nents earnestly for just a little of her time jTrZ i88 '■^The Stately Lady:* not care to be on the streets alone afterward. Mrs Emerson assured her that John, the coachman, could go home with her if she was really afraid to go alone. To her sister-in-law she remarked that she should not think a work- ing girl ought to mind being on the streets alone. How could she expect to be always through with her work before dark ? « Of course I intend to pay her for every hour that she spends with Fred," she added in an injured tone and one would think that she might be glad of the opportunity for earning more money in so agreeable a manner, instead of having to be distinctly urged to stay. I wish i-red wasn t so foolish about her reading It seems too absurd to have to plan for an escort for his nurse! that is simply what she is to him. I do hope that Ellen Stuart is not going fine-kd aTrs'" ^"""^"^ "^"'^ ^y P""'"g o" The sister-in-law, however, proved to be an unreasonable creature and took Constance's part, declaring that she should by no means like to have a daughter of hers, especially if she were young and handsome, walk those West Side streets alone ; and she did not sup- pose It made any particular difference with ones feelings in such respects whether one worked for a living or did nothing. It was this state of things that brought Mrs. 189 I'f Pauline. l^xitTnn'h '^' "^'^7 °"« evening with per- plexity on her face and irritability in her tones. 1 am sure I don't know how to arrange it Here ,s tUen Stuart announcing that she must was S. I '^"'"L know that Mr. Emerson was gomg to use the carriage to-night • and I couldn't have disappointed poor Fred, f I had It IS simply ridiculous that she can't go alone as pther girls in her station do. ^ WoTd She spoke to the sister-in-law, but Mr Henry t.„,erson, lounging in an' easy-era ; uTfrt!traTk?-"^^"''^'^"^'^'--^ " What is all this, mother ? Is it the statelv lady who does your kitchen fancy work w£ demands an escort home } You ought to hive ordered the carriage ! However, I can see her safdy across town to-night. I have an errand of my own somewhere in that vicinity " n,n^h . T-^ ^""'^ °^y°" • " «aid the relieved mother, lookmg admi,i..gly at her six feet of handsome son. «I was really troubled for lady, I assure you, when she chooses. 'I dark ° sirrj;" ^' "V^' ^'--^"^ «"o"e after .K \ u u^ '"^' ^'^^ *s "luch dignity as though she had complete command of her tLe 190 ^^The Stately Lady." TiuTv^ °i'v" t^' g°'"es to suit her fancy I felt hke telling her that she could seek "m Ployment elsew1,ere if she could not suit h^^ hours to mme. but Fred has taken such a ndiculous fancy to her that I did not like to lose her just now. J'u^^ '^II 'f"^ ^'™ t° sleep, don't you ■nk and he has been so restles's' and ner/ous all the afternoon that I was afraid he would not get to s eep to-night. Her voice certain y has a soothing effect upon him. But it seems too bad, Henry that you should h^ve ol away over there for nothing." ^ ..^'■•. Henry Emerson yawned politely be hmd his carefully kept hand '^ ^ "Never mind, mother; I'll toss that in as my contribution toward the expenses of Fred's c-rcus that he got up for the holidays. Where is the timid young woman.? Tell her she Constance waiting in the hall for John was surprised and annoyed to f^nd that it was Mr Henry Emerson who was to go with her Her knowledge of him was very limired She knew that he had charge of one'^of hs father' manufactories in a suburb of the city, and tha therrhe;PP°"\''' ^P^"'^ '"-^ o/his nigj there, being at home only for the Sabbath Still, on one pretext or another he was often at ml m- Pauline, home and during Fred's serious illness they had passed each other frequently in the halls or on the sta.n. Once he had Insisted upon akmg a tray ^om her hands and carry ing^k" ma manner that was offensive to her ^th- ou t her be, n^ able to tell just why Cer- Sw ' iith'i"" .'"'" '° k' ^ -''' -- town with this elegant gent eman. As she took her seat in the car the told herself that ! '•'""l' r^Se so that this need never occu again ; he had probably felt compelled toX word bu?i?7'°"' "^'■'S'**"'^ ^^'^'' ""Cher's word , but if John was not to be deoended upon Fred must do without her in fhT'en iS' |'^„^P'-°'"P*'y P/''sed up her fare before Mr. Emerson could give It attention, but jy^^ ^'^ y°" '*° *''** • " he asked, bending over her, the crowded condition of the caf having compelled him to stand. « Don^t vou ^prytir^?:if™^"-^°--^'»^-«P- fter, and that anv attempt at conversation was unnecessary I /she could but think of some way to avoid that long walk across town, a! 192 (( The Stately Lacfy.'*^ soon as they left the car she made haste f„ forestall any word of her attendant ° extenVSr!Se;:o:;^^VThadlr ^° ''''. t at John could take me Lt. TshouTol "Then'h Tf\T^'' arrang;n,ents •■ ' °^ was o?h:;wt g? jr f rj - g>^d Jo"" fess to having blerjealou ''S §TX Z. time, becaus. of his monopoly of yZ Tn o'vTlo^k peVoi: '^t' ^°" «Ud no^entirel know that? •■^'^ "''° "^ "^"- 1^°"'^ you haH^iLT'T' "^"^ ^^'"iliarity itself; and besides cltcetT- ry?|.ST ^l^e ^f d.gnatio„ held her sp'eecEVr a "ome ?: then^ she determined to ignore his wordTea! pi" ^' u''^'"! "°' '""'^ ofl^er route from Clarke Place that by taking two lines of cars^or even sS ^^r''' r^*''^ W-' sid;?""K £ A o*''^ '''°"eht that perhaps the cars out taking a somewhat lonesome walk b^t I you. Instead of its bemg a burden to me to ^93 Pauline. take care of you, I welcome the opportunity; you shall have no. lonely walks if f can help This was unbearable! "Ellen" indeed' how dare he? Yet even then she tried to be reasonable. Perhaps from his standpoint he meant only to be kind and try to put her at ease m his company. The problem of why young women who choose other people's kitch- en!, for some of their work must forego the privilege c f being addressed as other women are, was or.i that had confronted her before. She had started and changed color and almost dropped the starch she was carrying, the first time that Mrs. Emerson called her " Ellen " iince then she had grown used to it. Since ■wf„°? r'^'? '"u'^ "^^ 'f y°" did certain kinds of work for them they had a right to the tree use of your Christian name, why let them use It; the matter was not worthy a second thought for one who had heavier burdena to bear. It was ,n this way that she thought she had dismissed it. Fred, the sixteen ylar old invalid, in his physical weakness and imperious- ness might shout « Ellen " after her a dozen ^^f!4T-''"u''°"''''"'^ ^'^^ merely smiled and petted him the more. But Mr. Henry Emer- son, ^ gentleman, so called, and a stranger — that was another matter. Moreover, what did he naean by assuming the care of her ? Did he .194 (( The Stately Lady.''' on the " MU« " « i u ^ S"' emphasis ro£en^,rhu.E,t?.-^7;tWw^;J perfect .mpunity ? You cfon^t under uSd w£ I am trymg to tell you. I am not a good iTttle boy who eame away over here to Ee h s SL with ""' ^""^^ ^ ^-'«=d t':, enjoy a you and f /re"- -^ '''^\ "^ Presentiment'' tL you and I are going to be very good friends ■ and I am telhng you that, in order to have the' pleasure of a cTiat with you, every eveninVif fo^wntsS'r" """^^ ''^ ieTacI o have been H " 'T'"^ °"' " '^^ '"'"''.''« I have been domg frequently. The pleasure that I am sure I shall have in your soc etv may have to make in order to do it. What more do you wan t ? Take care ! my dear gS i?cS:nt:r'^ ^°" "^^^'^ '^ --'^ fr-' -cf a sShfr" '" ^^^i"'^'gn'lrion had overlooked a slight descent in the walk, and had stumbled J95 Pauline, and nearly fallen. Mr. Emerson had grasped her arm and saved her from the fall ; fhen he tned to draw her hand through his arm, but she drew herself away from his touch and spoke ner angry words. " I am not aware, Mr. Emerson, that I have said or done anything which should off-r you a pretext for insulting me. I must ask you to eave me at once. My fear of being alone on the. street has gone. I decidedly prefer it to remaming another moment in the company of one who has forgotten that he is a gentleman." 1 here was an mstant change in Mr. Emer- son s manner. "^i^*^„*,!" thousand pardons," he -said quickly You mistake my meaning, utterly. I wished only to appear friendly and make you teel at ease. I know, of course, that you are very different from other girls who have been m my mother's employ ; yet I thought — or — that is — what I mean is simply that I wish to be your friend, and to be of service to you in any way that I can. I may have blundered m the method of conveying it, but surely you will believe me when I say that nothing was farther from my thoughts than rudeness '' Constance had walked on rapidly while she spoke her indignant words, and he was taking strides to keep up with her. Evidently shI must endure his presence for the remainder of 196 "7>6^ Stately Lady:' the way Perhaps he was really sincere anH hav,„g been trained to one code V propriedes for women whom he met in society, aKothe for working women, was not quite s^much to Uinly he had cfianged his manner of trea[- ment now. He began to talk quietly about the bu.ldmgs th.y were passing, giving iferlitde .tems of mterest concerning %1,iic ^„,e„ S were connected with them, ancf so haping his talk that she could remain entirely silent Jith out appeanng rude. 197 XVI. ''Poor Child!" AS they reached the corner of the street on which she lived, Constance made an- . other effort to dismiss her escort. She assured him that her boarding house was but a few doors away, that the street was quiet and well lighted, and it was unneces- sary for him to take another step in her behalf. Instead of heeding her he began, in an earnest and perfectly respectful manner, his protest. "Miss Stuart, let me beg you once more to forgive my mistake. I see that you have not yet done so. I want to prove to you how sin- cere is my regret for having caused you unin- tentional pain. You know my standing, of course, and that of my family. I am going to ask you to look upon me as a deeply interested friend. I want to call upon you, and to show you the attention which a lady in a strange city should receive. It is absurd for a person like you to shut herself away from the world because she chances to b^ financially unfortu- nate. Pardon me for imagining that this is the 198 ^^Poor Chi/c/f* explanation of your present f jition. I plainly see that you were not trained to such a life and are out of your sphere. It was amazirie stupidity in me not to have understood from the very first, but you need not be afraid that I shall err again. No, not yet, please," he added eagerly, as Constance would have spoken, let me explam further. I assure you that I am in deeper earnest than you probably think possible. I want to be yoMt friend. I want the right to take care of you ; to give mv evenings to your service. I cannot have you walking these streets alone ; you do not know how unfitting it is for one like you. I have been spending most of my evenings in the country, but there is no earthly occasion for doing so. I could be in town every ni^ht if there were sufficient inducement. May f serve you in this, and in every other way that you would permit a trusted friend to do .? " "Noi," said Constance. "Thank you for the kindness— since you intend kindness — but your sacrifice is quite unnecessary. I am both able and willing to take care of myself. It is not my habit nor my intention to be on the streets alone; after this evening's experience I shall be doubly careful. It was to accommodate your mother that I waived my rule and remained late this evening ; I shall not do so again." He made a gesture almost of despair. 199 I Pauline. "^^Lc^f* "'" ""8ry with me!" he said reproachfully, "because' of a foolish atteSS upon my part to make you feel at ease Z understand that I was no^ burdened bu?gu3 to be with you. Is that kind ? Is it riJSt ? How shall I make you understand that? am not seckmg opportunities to do my duty f I tell you I want to be recognized as Jour friend. IZ ?'"'""' '°'^"T ""'I misunderstanding wo7h ""^1,^° ^"'^" '''»" conventionality view bri^'^ "PP'^7 '^"""8 » «"' i"'«r- view but I am prepared to do so; I want to Single you out from among women as my very special friend. What mort can I say ? "'^ ^ Nothing," said Constance, whose voice rou have already said too much. You choose your friends too suddenly. No. I will not hear more. I must decline positively the honor you seem to intend me. I am not offended -at least I will try not to be, after your explanation. I think /can make Allow- ances and understand how hard it is for you IrJfr-.u^^'J' *'"■'''"? *«'"«" should be a 1 th\r U "'^"""^ "^''"y- 'V« *'" P«ss all that If you mean courtesy now, I ought vou th^^•^"/°'■ '^' '"*-"«". while' I assSe you that It IS lost upon me. I am not in so- Ti^sini i\T ""^''^ "°^'' "°^ '"^ ' -p-^ 200 ''Poor Child!'' He wts not to be shaken off. . " But Miss Stuart," he began eagerly. « this «.b«.rd. At your a^e and with youTVace will be impossible to live in this world and be a rec use. Men have keener eyes than you .magine. They will seek you Lt and L3 ways of annoying you. Believe me. you need JuoTed h""'^ ' - 1 '^^^ «"tence'w1s inter- rupted by an exclamat.on very like dismay. Constance had dashed up the steps of a house that he was passing, and as he halted, the light from a gas jet near at hand fell full upon The seem/;.T'' "'^ '^TL- ^' *" '''« -^Ich seemed to have caused his exclamation. Is this — this cannot be youk number!" U r J '"il^"^*^"' excitement. "What street IS this .' How very extraordinary ! Are you sure you are not mistaken ? '' But Constance was too intent upon parting company with h,m to give much Led^o hi! words. She pulled at the bell in a way to as- panic to have the door open for her. She need not have been m such frantic haste; her escort seemed suddenly to have become equaly a„x [hL'° T7a- ^T '^"- "^ '"utt^ered some- thing, she did not know what, about seeing her again, and sped across the street and down the street before Mrs. Bristow had sue -ded in her bolt. slipping (i 20 1 Pauline, m til Whj^, dear me ! " she said, « is it you ? I thought It was a fireman, or something. How you did ring! Was you scared? Did you come alone ? Your cheeks look as if they were burnmg but you don't look exactly scared I was real worried about you. I told the girls that maybe we d better walk out a ways and see If we didn t meet you; but Alice thought it would be foohsh. Alice is here; she came a couple of hours ago to stay all day to-morrow. One of the trustees is dead, and that gives her a whole day s vacation. Isn't that nice ? I don t mean it's nice that the poor man is dead, —though maybe he is glad of that, — but public school teachers get dreadful few holidays. Did anything really Happen to scare you, Ellen .? " It was Constance's first chance to speak. 1 am not frightened," she said, "but I do not like being so late. I shall not stay into-the evening again. I am glad you are to have Alice tor an extra day. Where is she ? " _" Why she went upstairs a bit'ago, just a few minutes before you rang." At that moment the girl appeared, slowly descending the stairs - Mrs. Bristow's eldest dau-hter, and the pride of her heart. Not only was she an extremely pretty girl, with a grace of motion and ease of manner like those who have inherited from generations of culture, but she had been the "smartest " scholar in her class at 202 (< Poor Child!" High school, as her mother never wearied of explaining, and was now making a phenomenal success. n a suburban school thaf ha5 hereSr been the terror of women teachers, and the scene of dsgrace with several. She came home on Wday nights and returned to school on BrU? W^u^"' '"'^ ^'^^ ^^« ^" that Mrs. Bristow had of her. She had given up withou LTedT'' ''!.'°"! '""'•'^''y^ '" which' sh had looked forward to having her daughter with her sonTof f '■" ^'^ *^l!'"S ^-^^^ -"d Fren h les-' sons of famous teachers who went out to the Ewastoin'g"'"'"^ ^'^"'-^ ''^^^ "^'^^ b«^ " ^^'■^ .'^ E"en," she explained to the tall graceful girl who came doLstairs with slow scared'-'^ ^r.^^\^^' ""?: ^^ ' ''"' ^ ^^^ ShJh K thought sometTing had happened She has been scared herself, I |uess, though she wont own it. She ain't used to UlkZ he as^ooH^ f?^' Pr-'J^d herself upon taking as good care of her girls as people could with whom time and money were plenty There was a sudden flash in Alice's eyes such as Constance had never seen there before as she repeated her mother's word contemptuously 203 Pauline. i;~u» J . street just around here s as af'llt-^- ^-PP-y-hadaver/pl'e^;! aar^fhir'' r""' "'""Sely suggestive and dis- sflf for fl K^''"^'f"'=^ ^^« annoyed with her- self for flushing deeply under the girl's eaze • she f-elt that .t had been sufficient tl sufffHn-' sdt and torture on the way home wkhour offering herself as food for^coarse curio ity Besides, she was disappointed in Alice , the S foforr'st'""'^' ri ^^«f ^ '" manner he?e torore. She turned from her, ienorintr Lr r» mark and addressed herself to tfemofher " 1 was not alone, Mrs. Bristow. Mrs Em crson. who asked me to remain late to atfe^d upon the invahd, was to have sent the coach <..\* *■■ Emerson came." Mr. Emerson ' ! what, the old gentleman ? " It was Alice who hastened to explain. Oh no mother, not the old gentleman at all ; It was Mr. Henry himself, as farge aTlfe '• Constance turned from them both in a fever of shame and perplexity, and ran upstairs. Once m her own room she had to go over her recent bewildering experience in detail. It seemed in credible that she who had held herse^To high 204 ^ '^Poor Childr and strong heretofore should have had such eTetr '^ ''' " ''' '^'" ^P^""" '"'' She had always taken the position that no tr SP'th"^ r""S won^an^needLr' being treated other than respectfully by men • thaf R.rs probably had themselves to thank for' cle let the only excuse that she had given Mr Emerson was the fact that she had ^chosen to SflitcTef ""J"''°" °"'^'°"' '" h'"-- - tL . J^ ""'P' P='y'"^"t in money. ■ This, It seemed, not only shut her out from Mrs. Emerson's parlor as a caller, wl,kh sh^ had expected but m.de the son fee privileeed anty that could have been justified only by long and intimate acquaintance. She felt that such a state of things was a disgrace to Ameri mingled with her indignation and pain. Fir« how was she to meet the proble.^ which tS night s experience suggested.? Mr. Henry Em erson, despite all his attempts at expknatioT and making what ailowance^he could for h?s' environment, haci been unquestionably and un Eet or'^i^f If' l^ fr- «-. '^ he\\"d not Deen, or if she should meet other men who were on a level with her supposed sodaT pos° t.on, and who honestly desired to be friendly 205 i Pauline. I with her and to meet her socially, how was she to receive their kindnesses? Or rather, how was she to explain that she could not r;ceive them ? Attentions, even of the most ordinary sort from young men, she could not accept; she was a married woman. Her face did not glow under the power of that thought; itpaled. In i h^n' °^*^^,^°'■'d she was not married, and she had no right to the married name; y;t to bn '""^t' tA"^""' "^^ ^^™« ^^ though she S u^''^^''.'?"" '"»'-"ed and widowtd, she nf 1i?"k [' ^''^ t ^■'^"^h^od the bitterness of which those who had been desolated only by death could never understand. It had all ' come to her in one day of time, as other peo- ple counted; but for herself an eternity had passed over her. She was no longer a young joyous woman, with life and Tts beautifd possibilities stretching before her. So far as certain experiences were concerned, she was old. Nevertheless, there was a life to be lived here and she did not mean to shrink from it- she tlJir/hf r '?'■''' ^"r'^ ''■"^> ^"'l ^° demonstrate that the religion of Jesus Christ was of suffi- cient strength tD bear any weight ; but in order ,nH.\ 1 ""'^ "°f ^'^"Pt the attentions and take pleasure in the scenes that other women of her age would naturally accept and enjov. .^^? h fT' ''■' '^^. "^'^^'•' '"^^ ''^' thankful that she felt sure of it. How, then, was she to 206 '''Poor Child! 5> ward off such attention ? If other men. not like Mr. Emerson, offered her honest kindnesses, how was she to receive them ? There were evidently problems in this new life of hers that she had not yet solved, nor even thought about heretofore ! For a time they weighed Rer down. Ihe often-c,uoted truth that "no man liveth to himself came to her with a different mean- ing from heretofore ; it seemed that no one was allowed to live for himself, even in a reasonable and unselfish sense. It puzzled her afterward to understand why so small a matter as that compared with what she had already endured! should have had power to so distress her; but It IS a fact that she shed some bitter tears before she reached the resting place of those who cast all burdens, great or small, upon Him who has invited such confidence. The other perplexity that kept itself in haunt- ing undertone was : « What is the matter with Alice Bristow? Why did she look at me so coldly, and speak to me with almost a sneer ? " " Before the next evening those questions had been answered for her. She had returned early from her day s appointment and was consider- ing whether or not s^e should go down and offer to help Alice with a dress that was being remodelled, when Mrs. Bristow tapped at her door work in hand, and announced herself puzzled over some portion of the said dress 207 Pauline. u^H^"*"! »"'*'!'« f "-'s have gone out for a ki7. "'it*'"?''"'^?'^ "J made Alice go, poor child ! She was that tired and nervous that I saw she was only doing work to be ripped out afterward, and I promised if she would ro, to but thinks I to myself, • The very minute you get out of sight, my lady, I'll take it up to tllen, and I won t be afraid to venture an old- tashioned shilling that she can help me out " That IS very easily done," said Constance, as she gave the offending sleevecareful attention. You have started the sleeve for the wrong arm, Mrs. Bristow ; all it wants is to change places with the other one, and it will settle into shape. "Well, now, if I ain't beat ! " declared- the good woman. "Yes, that's so, as sure as time' I see It myself, as plain as day, now you've pointed It out. And there Alice has been fussing at it, and fussing at it, till she didn't know whether to cry or to fly at it and tear it all to pieces, poor thing ! ^ Something in her tone made Constance aware that the last two words applied to Alice, and * not to the sleeve ; also that her mother was anxious about her, and wanted to be asked to become confidential. 208 ''Poor Childr "Let me baste the sleeves in for you. Mrs Bnstow," she said; "and if there is any oth« way ,n wh.ch I can help this dress along I shall I was thinking of coming down to offer mv services to Alice." ' RrL^'"' T''' ^ '''" "^^ "^'"d!" said Mrs. Bristow, whose sentences always began with one Vnil ^l u°'' '"°'^^- " ^'" J"" -^n down fn fi^I V^'"' "."'^ 8« you to sh.w me how to fix the pleats and start the trimming, if you win. Ahce has bothered over it all a good deal" and she doesn't know how she wants It, or how l.7^V°. t /''f'^ '''" "P^*'* ''"d nervou! poo;^iiS"'^'°"'^^'°"^^-^"---'. "Isn't Alice feeling well to-day?" Con- wSr. ' ^"'"*°" ^'■°'" ^'' ""^ ''""g "Well she is and she //«'/. She'd be well enough if- She has things to bother her; fo theilT' '^7 '°'^"'"''' ^ g"^-' •"«- 'han !„7i ? ; l''^^''-"«'"g in her disposition, and most of the time she thinks things are al right or will get so ; but I don't know." This was not especially enlightening in its character Constance felt that she could only sew steadily on, and wait. ^ 209 XVII. Calkd to Service. MRS. Bristow sewed, too, in silence for some minutes, and then nervously ripped out her stitches, her face wearing all the time such a look of genuine anxiety that Constance longed to comfoi- her, yet felt that she did not know how to advance without intrusion. " I've made up my mind," said the mother, at last, "to ask you a question. You're considerably older than Alice, and 1 dare say you've seen more of the world than either she or me has. I don't know what she would sav if she knew I was going to talk to you about it, but there! — " an unusually vigorous jerk of her thread emphasized the fact that an un- alterable decision had been reached. " I want to know what you would say if a man had paid you a good deal of attention for more than a year — going with you wherever he could get a chance, and sending you flowers and thmgs, everlastingly, besides calling you his ' dear girl,' and saying you and he were made 210 Called to Service, for each other, and he couldn't get along with- out you and things of that kind%nd yef never came right out plain and square and asked you to marry h.m ; and never came to see your mother, nor came to your own house to visiE you but just hung around where you board d What would you think of such a man ? " It sounds," said Constance, quickly, « very rnuch _as_though I ought to thinl that'' he w2 hread m nervous haste, "there's tiroes when I m most afraid that that is just what is th! matter; only Alice feels so sire that t sJ't She isn t one to run after men, Alice isn't • she mgs, and she d have to be co.ne after rfal plain before she would pay any attention to it. He's been p am enough as far as actions go, the land knows! and the question is. Why I'erL Jo so If he isn t in earnest ? And if he is in earnest why doesn't he ask her if she wil" marry h.m, and come and see me, and hrve the day set, and have things honest 'and abov^ board, hke respectable people, such as we've been all our lives? I've said for weeks yes for months that it was high time it tr^e'To seem tT J i,""'?"^ ''"'^ ^"''"''> f*" '^ doesn't seem to me that I can stand things as they are much longer. Jt isn't as thoug! she hal 21 I ^ 'ii 11 Pauline. > ftther to look after her, Ellen ; there's only me, you know; and I promised her father when he was dying that I'd be father and mother both to them, but there ! a woman can't do what a man can, and there's no use in talking. If Alice's father were alive I know, just as well as I want to know, that no young man could have hung around her in this way for so lone ; he'd have done something — but I'm sure I don't know what." Constance was silent for very dismay. With prophetic eye she foresaw sorrow and pain for the poor mother, and for the fair young wowian, who was trusting to fond words and loving attentions, instead of to the plain, out- spoken plans that honest men are eager to have arranged. "I can certainly sympathize with your anxie- ties," she said at last, feeling that she was being waited for. " I think if I were a mother, placed in like circumstances, I should send for the young man to come and see me ; and I should know from his own lips just what confidence was to be placed in him. There are wicked men in the world, Mrs. Bristow, false men in every sense of the word ; and mothers owe it to their fatherless children to err on the side of over- care, if necessary, instead of on the side of over- trustfulness." She wondered that she was able to keep her voice steady while speaking those 212 Called to Service. S'" ^^'^ '"l^ "°* *""'''= «>«asion for her opinion of men ? "I k.,ow it," said Mrs. Bristow, droppine all pretence of work, and letting th; Sesf of her anx,ety be seen in her fact; "I feci"?, through me that something's wrong, and I have felt It for a good while, fi't.t Alice^fcels aw?uil about my taking any step. She says I will spoil her life ,f I do; that he would hav^a hear him talk, you would know it was all right just as I do.' ' Then why don't 1 have a chance to see him and hear him talk ? ' ] ask her Isn't J «,'"/ "ght ? Ain't I the child's mother, nd any time ? I m a decent woman, and come of a respectable family, that have a! way. keprhem- selves respectable; he needn't be^shrmed To come to see us, ,f we are poor. Alice thinks he IS condescending so dreadfully to choose says, any lady in the city would be proud to therr^'''''l'"l' ^"'^ ^' ^'^^ »"^"ed from them all and picked out poor little me ! ' She thinks that IS wonderful; but I can't, for the s range about it. I may be a silly mother t u" K 'y"' ^"'^ ^ 'I""'' «ee many girls' anywhe.. that are prettier than my Alicef or ^'11 Pauline. that could be finer-looking ladies if they had the chance. And she's educated, too. She was the best scholar in her class. And see how she manages that school out there that some men, even, have failed in ! He tells her It IS too hard for her, and he won't have her weanng her strength out on such work. Why doesn t he stop it, then .' or act as though he wanted to, m a sensible way ? " " Is he a rich man ? " asked Constance, whose heart had been growing heavier for Alice with every added sentence of the mother's. " ^J^y^ y« ■ ' "ch ' ? Rich as Jews, they are. There is nothing of that kind to hind , If there was, and he'd say so like a man, Alice would be willing to wait for him, and do her share of the getting ready, and I'd be willing to have her. I've wished many a time it was JiKe that ; it would seem more natural. Why you know how they toss monej jbout ' Dear me ! you don't know who I mean, do you ? Dear, dear! Alice would be raving if she knew I told you, but I'm going to do it. You won t let on that I said a word, will you ' 1 shalhust tell you his name, and ask you what you think. "Mrs. Bristow," said Constance, the color Mowing into her pale face, " do you think you oueht to give Alice's secret to me against her will? If I could help her in any way I do 214 Called to Service. bu! r/ l'!h'-"j°r ''°* 8l«dly I would do it; but If she shrinks from me, and would b« hurt by my knowledge of her affkir,. do you think you ought to sav more ? " ^ " " Ves," said Mrs. Bristow, sturdily, " I do JL^V ^V' =• '''"^ *"'' somebddy, or «o crazy; Im that troubled that I can't ,h?n St''that^"h' '°-''^ ' ^"" "^ - pS" - di;^ light that she is worry n«r herself r» _ strange, even to her, th'a?t 3d comeTwT; over here last n.eht and not make any 72 when he knew she was at home. She wofld give her two eyes, I belieye, to know wha° he She thi„r" '^°"' ^'^^^''■"^ -^ ^he house She thmks you see. that he doesn't like to come to this part of the town to call on her for fear folks will go to talking about it be cause none of his accuaintanceslive over here But I tell her that l^e's got to come, soon"; or later, ,f he wants her; and I don't ee wha he gams by hanging off. It's a perfectly re spectable part of the town, anyway and iust as nice people live around here aVliv" iv where, f think myself that that is the sil ie t kind of excuse. I told Alice maybe he came over last night to see how we iLked heTe and whether he could stand it. Well now yoj^^know who it is, don't you, withou't"m; " Mrs. Bristow, you can't mean — " 2ie w Pauline. nnK^"'/ ^"'J.'^ean Henry Emerson, and nobody else. He's been after my Alice ever fathers mill. He stays there nights, and fin-l 'ln"r '""■'' "^""'"g °^ *"■« "f«. wh^n he amt m town at some party or other, he con- tnves to spend with Alfce. He take^ her out r k^ ^"u "■'^'"S. and if there are any doings mill tS'ar*^ \ ' •" ■'° ^° "'^"^ ''^'•= -^^ "^ mill g.rs are begmnmg to point him out as her beau, you know. There are plenty of Alee. She wont own .t, but I can see she feels ,t, that he never brings her to things in ^wn- concerts, you know, and lectures. He did ask her once to go to the theatre, but she wouldn t go She knows I don't lik; her eo- ronhl. K . . ""'l" '° ?'^^ "'^ a^minute's thatiVh H ""'^ '" '^' '^"'1' sometimes, oJ Dnn'^ TT f" '^'^ °" "^"^y Emer- son. Dont It look queer to you that he town ? Of course he couldn't take her to but she d begin to have invitations, I s'pose, if the . i ''"■ "^^'- "^ g°^« ''™^elf to all the grand parties and receptions. Alice s.ys y^l *^"^y'^«^ f^e owes to society ' ! She gets that kind of talk from him. I say there's 2l6 / Ceiled to Service. ConsMrnation hdd Conitance's lip, closrf m>ght do harm rather than good Thli^ sTe" ioSt"^^ ''T ''^ '"^^'' »'--h' S She would believe him against all the worW and an attempt to undefmine that influence might lead to the very ruin that she feared She must wait for wisdom. •' I do not know quite what I think " ,h,. said at last, as the mother waited "n' keen ZTl aT • " "'"■'' ' " ' ■"-" J 'J '"o" know what to advise- not yet. We must be careful good Ln? h^ f t'""S !'""' ^"'-'han thatE„„,H "" ""' ** '''g'^* ''^'"■^^"•^y over ^nabifai::;^js„^~ Source of all wisdom, her edLSn had been 317 1 f Pauline. not to speak of it. Her unexpected reference had immediate effect upon the troubled mother I he anxious look on her face gave place to one that expressed almost awe. "Do you pray about such things?" she asked, with a wistful note in her voice that went to Constance's heart. " It must be nice to teel that you can." " Casting all your care upon Him," quoted Constpce, with marked emphasis on the "all " The story to which she had listened had, in one sense, a curious effect upon Constance her- self. Her whole life, heretofore, had trained her to respond promptly to the needs of others whenever they touched her closely enough to claim her attention. This girl, therefore, young, pretty, and innocent, trusting where many would be suspicious, ready to give her wealth of love into the keeping of a man entirely unworthy ot her, because she believed that he was hon- estly asking for that love, appealed powerfully to the older woman. Had her own fiery trial she asked herself, been in part for this reason \ that she might put forth a hand to save another woman, perhaps from depths far lower than sac- rifice and sorrow ? Had she possibly come — not to her kingdom but to her cross, "for such a time as this " ? The thought gave her strength ; lifted her, for perhaps the first time since her crucifixion, above her own cross, and 2i8 Called to Service. enabled her to get for the moment a glimpse of the cross that had been borne for her " If any man serve me, let him follow me" rhe words sounded in her heart like a call to duty. Had he permitted her to follow in Closer line than many women need, that she might be his agent in saving this young soul > On her knees that night she gave herself sol- emnly to the work; and the sense of humilia- tion that Henry Emerson's treatment of her had induced, passed. It had come to her that she might in this way have been permitted a glimpse of his true character for a purpose Just what she could do was not clear to her in detail, but the first step was. She must win Alice Bristow s love and trust. She must set herself very carefully to the task, and overlook entirely any coldnesses or sarcasms that the troubled girl might bestow upon her. Here- tofore she had seen but little of Alice, and had been content with giving her a passing word and smile when they chanced to meet on Sun- days. She realized that she had not included Alice ,n the interest that she felt for the mother and the two younger girls ; for the reason, prob- ably, that their lives during the week did not touch. But she set herself to work with an earnest purpose to change all this She counselled the mother — whether wisely or unwisely, she could not be sure, — that she 219 !'iiii i Pauline. take no positive step such as would be lilcelv to anger Alice just yet. There followed weeks of patient effort on the part of this watcher for a soul. Effort that she could not help ques- tioning doubtrully as her anxiety increlsed. P ogress was certainly made, so far as winning Alices love to herself was concerned, but i? that was to be all, what did it matter? Alice was sweet and bright, and evidently happy SheTeturned from school on that first Satur- day after Constance's memorable walk, with the anxious look gone from her eyes, and in girlhood.'""""'""' *""■ """'"'"y '"""'^« "He's coaxed her up." the mother confided to Constance. "He had her out with him twice this week, and made her think thS ^ jy^'""g -f lovely. He can make he believe that black is white if he wants to I never saw anything like it ! Not that she tells me much about it; she knows that I don't take as much stock in him as she does anH she won't talk about him, - only :wtd'he"re stand him she says, and I ask her if she is sure that I m going to live long enough ! He hasn t said a word yet about |etting married that know, or I should hearft quifk enough! But [ know, too, that he talks al"] the time in 220 Called to Service. a way to make her feel that that is what he in Cans* All this only served to increase Constance's anxietv, and make her fear that she ought no to have counselled the mother to patience Wext, It came to pass that Mr. Emerson was sent abroad on a business trip that wSd occupy at least six weeks. Mrs. Bristow drew a s^h of relief when she heard of this, and Constance hailed it as an opportunity ;hich she by no means let slip. The absence « tended over ten weeks instead of six, and by felt tW h ■■• ^'""'■f " '■^'"'•"^'^> Constance teJt that she possessed Alice Bristow's love in an unusual degree, and her confidence in all directions save one. She would not talk to her about Mr. Emerson. It is true that Constance could not help admiring her for this reticence, while at the th^.K"" • t^ ''^^^^ °''" ■' «^ =>" indication that the girl s nature was deeper than she had supposed; and knew that her depth of pain 'f pam must come, would be correspondingly ii: 221 XVIII. What if f THERE were times when Constance wondered if they were not possibly mistaken m Mr. Emerson's character. He might be a trifler with other women especia ly with women whom he considered much ower in the social scale than himself, and yet be honestly fascinated with this pretty flower that had apparently bloomed away above to 'J T- u? *' "°' f °*'''''^ ^^^^ he meant to otter honorable marriage to the child ? If so. what then } The closer Constance's heart drew to the heart of the fair young girl, the more distinctly did she turn from the tL^ughrofTuch a marriage ; yet, under such circumstances.ought she to try to interfere } But, on the other hand, f he meant to be sincere and honorable, why did the man "hang back," as Mrs. Bristow graphi- cally expressed it.? Was he trying to win the girl so completely that she would be willing to prac- tically disown mother and sisters for his sake' Uid he mean, sometime, to remove her from all her present surroundings and make the fine 222 Trhat if—P brou/h; h. K t"""'" >°^ ''""f'°"« continually brought her back to that haunting « if." '^ i>_he could not be sure that he wrote to AhV. '""'je I"" "P » b.ii.v= ,h;, t ilL b. .'„l K- ' S,™"" """ '" •!« "fid- ShJ" m.k "g big pUns. ,00 , she ,„ld KaK ,he Mh„ "„" tin pan —that s what she calls our piano which sa ve,y respectable one, I think-Tt o^e J y aepend. Alice was never one to build 223 ! ^''\ e'^^ her! diamond >rne didn t mean the real thing?" whisuereH the mother that evening to Cons^nce '^''''^ It was on the following week thaf Pr»^ Emerson had one of his ifl tums and Con stance was offered more than treb ; her usual mMmni of ,n author so thorouohlv FrtH J 25 % Pauline. might have done any guest of his mother, talk- ing to her only about Fred's condition. Yet she went home annoyed and puzzled. On the next afternoon Mr. Emerson was again in- stalled in the invalid's room. « u".^^'^ ^"" '■^^'''"g f° "le." Pred explained ; hes a good reader, too; the only trouble is a fellow can never get hold of him. I don't believe he has spent half an hour with me be- u ,' 'l^!'^^ y*^*""^- ' '*'''"'' '«f ''■"I touch our book, tllen ; nnbody but you can read that." Constance made an earnest plea to be ex- cused, as other duties were awaiting her, and Mr. Emerson could fill her place; but Fred was irritable over the suggestion, frankly de- clanng that he had had all he wanted of Henry for one day. That gentleman ended the mat- ter by sprmging to his feet, watch in hand, and declanng that he must be off at once to a busi- ness engagement. Yet he was in the hall whe;- Constance came downstairs, and walked with her to the car not only, but took a seat beside her. On the way down town he talked incessantly, not claimins replies from her, but evidently exerting him- self to interest her, and treating her with the utmost courtesy. Meantime, she was revolv- ing in her mind whether she should presently say to him that she was very fond indeed of the girl he had chosen, and that she had a most 226 *.nge<,fv„i„ """'"'"« '"""ion by hi, ui.fortm,K atti „'ir "'™«i. my lim acquaintance. I hale L'™' '"•*■»"« I Sopc, bu, I LvcLfT "'?","»« then, relinquihed n,, de,i« r „" T^'f """"">' ip'i 227 belong. Can |i Mif Pauline. you not believe that I mean this with all mv heart, and stand ready to make my words good in the most practical possible way ? " " Mr. Emerson," said Constance, with diffi- culty controlling her indignation sufficiently to speak, I will not stop to ask what right you have to infer that I am in disguise, or that I stand in need of assistance from any man. I will simply ask you at once if you are not aware that I belong at present to the same household and am the very intimate fnend of Alire Bristow?" "Alice Bristow!" he repeated, his voice expressing unbounded astonishment " Well what then ? What can your being a friend of hat pretty child whom I myself know, and like, have to do with your acceptance of such friendship and care as I offer you ? Is it pos- sible that you still do not understand my meaning ? ' "Ellen! Ellen Stuart!" called a girlish voice from the upper window of a house rhev were passing. "Can't you stop a few min- utes.' Mamie isn't so well, and she's been crying for you all the afternoon. I promised to watch when you went by, and tell you she wanted you. Without a word to her companion, Con- stance turned, ran up the steps, and disappeared within the house. kk '=" 228 ff^hat tf—.? herself, when two hourfafterwarn 'h'^ '^' '"'"?'«' alone in her own roo^. t^, ttSk^ '"" sinS"e''inthat'he"''r:i''^r" -""''' be r^ftH- -^-.-wis^ ^^an^SSf^^T-"^ occasionally to places nf t"' •'"'^ '"""^ ^er in love wi^h her' ^ ^"tertamment. he was the girl's charac; as sheTadV"")/ "".'"'^ the mother, or as she h,H h r""^.'^ '^ ^'""•n weeks. And vet if h- ^"'' ""'^"'^ '' '«'• tion theml ^;'uld i^t^Se'TuT a 't "'- think he could deceive herMi i ' " ^° would permit such treatmen^ ^"^ ^''" believed It to comefr^rl l' .**^*^ " she honorably souS he T °"- ^''° '^^^'^ '"^^''"d not think sfel,!- ' '" '"""■"' ^''^ ^°"ld distress What couL'"h' ^''' °^ """'"^ ''"'^ now? WhaVou^httnh .^ Pt'° "^^ '""'•A"" And then tv3rl- ^ '^"^ ^° ^^^ P"""- niother ? And then the Christian woman went through Pauline. that humiliating stage of Questioning, whereby we exhibit so often our distrust of the divine Hand that leads. Why was she not shown what and how to do ? She had prayed to be guided— what had she accomplished? Here she was. completely hedged in ! no movement that she could devise but seemed likely to do more harm than good. Not for worlds would she have put the thought into language -and there are thousands of Christians like her- but unspoken, and almost unrebuked, lay the thought that she might as well n^t Lve prayed; and that matters had now reached such a pass that to help was impossible. It is fa.th like this that the Leader'^has to accept from many of His followers ' ^ hrlihr/ ^""'■'^'y r!';''"^' ""'^ A'i^'s sweet, bright face was probably already in the home circle. Constance shrank from going down to herand meeting her kisses and happy words. i»he felt almost like a traitor herself. What strange words had but now been spoken to her by the man who Alice evidently felt was bound by strongest bonds to herself! She shrank from meeting the anxious eyes of the mother— eves that seemed to ask her each time that she came back from a trip into the world, " Do you know yet what to advise me to do .' " There came a tap at her door, and Mrs Bnstow s voice was heard outside. 230 U^hat tf-^P sincefand she's got fevt"! ? • T '"'V"" "^^^ expenence as her uncle's attendan , tte Tn'dica'^ Si f '' r "'''"• ^''^^^ flashed over her faithless heart the possibility that it was fn rhU way her prayer was to be answered ' wi; ':ig^,:^ ThJ'doc?;"? t ^ '°"^ ^-"^ H;;iette;2£S:-r--^;rK mie into an organized private hospital whose .nma^tes understood that a great bat^e w;s to b" when n/h ''"r-'"^ ^"^^e" life and death when no human being can be sure which 'de ,I^Jl li 'l Pau/ine. almost more wearing experience of creeoina slowly back to life again creeping sav^iJ.'T^h'' ''/'i ^'^- .^""°* ^°""d time to say m a hundred varieties of ejaculatorv sen- tences that she didn't know whit "she shodd have done without Ellen Stuart ! " That vouna woman certainly proved a tower of s^re3 Without actually giving up her daily roudne of rdgular work, she yet contrived by judicious management to take, each day and eac\ S" her turn m canng for the patient. Not to speak of those nights of vigil ^nd of fear when none of them thought of sleep; when the sol emn opportunity f^r watching a soul cha„ee worlds seemed to be upon theni ; when the so? emn question pressed itself home to at least one conscience "When the time comes for me Jo meet her face to face again, what shall I say to ;i;:SLd "TwjsT'S^t'"'- '^^ h spritual part of her' Sut SlJ awTker/a'n'j taken control that Constance had to meet that question She stood appalled beforelt She promised herself that, (5od helping her she would never again confront it wit^ such a ;ense of neglect as she now felt bearing down up"o" her. Other interests or anxieties sank into in- .gmficance and her prayers became oi/ pro- longed cry for Alice Bristow's life to be sp?;^ 232 Jf^hat if—? until there was for her )and I wh«rfh fe;:i7j^J" -re not ,„« the weakened life wo uM S^ '^''"' ?•" *'«='''" inability to bea thrsSn n? T'^' ^/^^ ^"^"^ watched for and prayed forfj'?^' ^'""''"« some tender little word Th . ^?." '° "P^^ invalid's thoughts to the ^°"'t '"^"^^e strength. Yet it was Al J. T"' .^°"^^^ «f the way. *' ^''^^ ^l^" « iast opened on:''n,ting.th:;'^sran!j";- "^"^'"^ --> alone togetht. " You al th h"'?" ^""^ didn't you ? I conlH c • °"^''^ ^ wo"Jd, she though so a, d in ! '" ""°'^'''' ^^^^ ^^a ' h^f lllen. 'what Iffi^-^,;;.?^"'"- 'i me? na^^ become of stanc?:?hettr°d'tTi:''"°"''^^^'-'"-'^ Con- afraid of agitS ihTSrf T^^y- She was thread of ftrengfh tha? *em '°^ '""oPP'"g '^^ turned upon hV n^se yTs'"ttt ^' f''' have grown larger, since her fa e LhT"^ '° so thm, as she asked-— ^*^ ''^'^""'e SO this mornmg, when sh ^33 saying e was m the other m Pauline. room. I'm not a bit ready. I knew I wasn't when they thought I was going; but I was too weak then, to care. One ought to get ready before that awful weakness comes. Don't you think so ? " 234 XIX. O A Climax. ^ NE ought to get ready to live," said Constance, bending to kiss the thin __ white face. " When we are ready to hve, Alice dear, the best and strongest life that there is to be lived here, we are at all times ready to die. I am glad of a chance to say that to you. I want you, darling, to get ready to live a beautiful life right he e ; then, when the time comes for you to change worlds, it will be like putting off a worn dress for a new and beautiful one and going right on with the real living." Alice looked at her wonderingly. « "P°,y°" f^^' fli" way always.?" she asked. ' I don't know but you do ; you are different in some things from everybody else that I ever knew; perhaps that explains' it; but— isn't It strange that you never wanted to teach me to feel so ? " " I did," said Constance, dropping on her knees beside the bed, " J did, and I do ; but I was foolish and faithless and afraid. You and I Pauline. W w\\ be«n a new lend of living, together, Alice. We w.n take the Lord Jesus Tor our Strength, and be his m this world and the other. But do you know that you are not to talk another word just now? Your duty at this minute is to swallow these drops and shut your eyes and The weary child smiled, and obeyed; and Lonsjance remained on her knees pravine for very joy. r / g "■ In the days that followed she had, for the first time in her life, the exquisite joy of lead- ing a soul by gentle steps along the oft-trodden path to the waiting Saviour. " My parr was almost nothing," she said afterward to that one with whom she went over every detail of this portion of her life; « I seemed to myself to be just watching a bud unfold and blossom into the flower that it was intended to be " Yet she knew in her soul that the Master had given her this opportunity and this soul. Was it an earnest of what he had for her to do in the world, and was her baptism of suffering her necessary preparation ? During this time there had been other ex- periences hard to endure. Throughout Alice's Illness there had come, almost daily, rare fruits and flowers, brought always by a special mes- senger who said simply, « For Miss Stuart " and vanished before he could be questioned 236 ^ Climax. Constance annoyed beyond measure, bcran after a l.ttle to feel only too certain fro^ whfm ri^ey came; yet so skilfully was the sending managed that she found no opportunity to decline them. She could only'^ express \er fe°av?n7r' ^'^ '^'^ "''-' '-suTes by leaving them to waste their sweetness in the kitchen day after day. If they had only been sent to Alice, how she would huve enjoyed ingering among their blooms and carrying them to the girl with their lovely message^ weekln]^ """ ""'• u Throughout those long weeks of grave apprehension, the man who in some way had certainly won the child's heart had made no sign that he cared for or knew of her existence. At first the mother had watched SL7h' ''■°'" '^"" ^""^ ^ -« ^^ -^-n will finT.\' r"!'" ''" ''^"' ^°^ ^'^"^ «''« is he will find that he can come even out to this common part of the town to call ! " she would say confidently to Constance. Middle-aged woman though she was, and with some knowl- edge of the world, she yet seemed unable to . conceive of such depths of wickedness as the onl Wir°°'"r^.''"'' ^"" for amusement only. When tfJe days passed and no word came, she asked Constance anxiously if she il"°* wfP°'\'*"'' "'''" '"='"" *as out of town. When she was assured with a brevity 237 if' Pauline. which spoke volumes that he was not, but had been seen that very day, the mother's grave triumph gave place to scorn. But even yet she did not understand. " If he was that mean," she said, " that he could not come over there to see her when she was sick, and maybe dying, she did not see how she was ever going to get herself willing to hav;ing Alice marry him and go away some- where where she couldn't look after her." And Constance, who had steadily refused Mrs. Emerson's urgent calls for service, and who had that day crossed the street three times and entered stores where she had no errand, in order to avoid the man who she could not help seeing was trying to get speech with her, felt once more bowed to the earth with a sense of shame, and knew not what to do. For a time, she could do nothing. There came, one day, a climax in the shape of a note, unsigned yet so manifestly from the man who had persisted in trying to force him- self upon her notice, that she could not but • be sure the time had come for definite action of some sort. Once more it was Alice who opened the way. It was a summer morning, for the spring had passed quite away while Alice lay uncon- scious of time. Ivlidsummer indeed was upon them, and they had occasion every day for 538 A Climax. thanlcsgiying that the season had been so ex- ceptionally cool and pleasant, even in the ereat city. Since the school year had closed. Alice's gain had been more rapid. The mother's theory was that the girl had really believed at first that she should get well enough to go back for the examinations and closing%xercises, and her feverish desire to do so had helped to retard her progress. « Now that the fuss is all over and she can't go to work again till fall don t you see how sTie is improving .? " And then the mother would lower her voice to a whisper, although at the time she and Con- stance would be downstairs, and add- — .«" ^''K'7^ 'l ""y ')*'*" '"^^ t'^<= <:hild pined to get back there where she could see liim ! And I s pose that was natural enough, too. But now that she knows he must have gone away for the summer, she has kind of ^ven up seeing him till fall, and it makes hef feel ^ A ' r^ '}^ ^'^' f'""" that she had referred to her daughter's friend in several weeks, her outspoken anxieties having given way at last to severe silence. Constance^had hoped that the mother's eyes, at least, were being opened to the true state of things, and saw with dismay that they were not; and did not dare, just then, to say to her that the man she meant had not been out of town for a week at a time since Alice was taken ill 239 Pauline. And yet she ought to tell her. How was it all to end ? Upstairs Alice, in the daintiest of white morninB dresses looking herself not unlike the flower that was tucked into the ribbon at her waist, was seated in an easy-chair, a bit of work, with which she had been toying for the first time, lying idly in her lap. She had walked that morning almost the distance of a short square Svithout undue fatigue, and had smiled brightly upon Constance when she asked anx- iously about the result, assuring her that her occupation as head nurse was slipping away from her, for her patient was getting " real well and strong." As Constance looked in with a delicate blanc-mange that she had made for the midday meal, she was struck with a look of quiet deter- mination that seemed to have settled on the girl's fair face. Some question had evidently been before her for consideration, and a deci- sion had been reached. "Are you ready for dessert.?" Constance asked gayly. " D ' you cat all your soup .' " " Every drop. My appetite has come back, and so has my strength. I feel quite like my- self to-day. It seems nice to have you here, Ellen, in the middle of the day ; and this blanc^ mange is delicious. Can you stay with me a httle while? I want to talk. I have been 240 ^ Climax, thinking very seriously about some things, and there arc questions that I want to ask. fwould rather ask them of you than of mother, because poor mother has had so much to trouble her. truth°*' ^°" *'" '^" *"' J"" ^''^ And then Constance felt a sinking of heart and a tremendous sense of responsibility. What was coming? and what ought she to say ? The truth, of course, but— there are different ways o. putting truth. Or, should she refuse to speak longer.? She could do it. Her influence with Alice was almost unbounded now; but would It be well ? The child was gaining with great steadiness, and was looking as she said "like herself, rather like a fair sweet picture of her- .h A!i'u^ 'l"'" ''«='f-<^o"trol and self-poise that had been marked in one so young had returned to her. She had taken on a sort of mental strength that very morning, during Constances absence of an hour, that would hold her steadily to the decision she had reached She might allow it to be put aside for another day or two perhaps out of deference to Constance as her nurse and friend, but all the same she would very soon reach the heart of the subject which she evidently meant to .•n^""!' r u ■" •'^ "°/ '^"'''y °"'y ««P ^he strength instead of helping her ? 241 %■ 'if: U Pauline, The«e questions hurried swiftly through Con- '■ttnce's mind and brought her to the words that she made as light as possible. " I can stay a few minutes with you, dear. What momentous questions are to be dis- cussed? Not the spring sewing that your m9ther worried over, and that need not be done, now that the spring is gone. And you are all readv, for midsummer. You are to be kept in white, do you know it ? Your mother and I have decided that, because it becomes you so." For ariswer, Alice smiled upon her, a tender appreciative smile, and said : — " Ellen, do you know whether or not Mr. Henry Emerson is in town yet ? " " Ves," said Constance, busying herself with the dishes on the tray; " he is in town. I saw fei«i yesterday driving past Mrs. Salter's about noon. I was there, helping the Salters close tiheir house, you remember. My dear, do vou mean to tell me that you arc not going to' eat the whole of this blanc-mange when I made it myself, and scalded my hand in doing it, all for you ? " "Poor hand ! it is used to being hurt in my service, I am afraid. I wonder what 1 can ever ti» for it in return ? Ellen, did Mr. Emerson call ihere while I was sick ? " " No, darling, he has not been here at any time." 242 A Climax. Nor sent any word ? any message for me or about me? I know you willbe q"5 sure of what you say, and I know you wil? tell me nothing but the truth." Poor Constance ! the quiver in the child's voice controlled as it was, struck at her heart Mie felt as though she was about to thrust stabs into a gaping wound. She had to turn her face away from those waiting eyes, but she made her words distinct. "There has been no message either for you or about you, dear, from him; though he is almost the only one who knows vou tho has not inquired and offered kindnesses." I he wound was open now, certainly; at anv cost the truth must be told. What next.' She could not decide ; she must wait " Ellen," said the girl, after some minutes of silence that seemed to Constance like hours, you do not know as I do how strange that IS ; how very strange ! I do not under- stand It ! No, poor darling, she didn't. She trusted J^' . ..S"""'''"^^ ''"ew now what she must do • the child must understand. "Alice dear," she said, infinite tenderness and yet determination in her voice, " may I ask you a few questions, now ? Did he - do vou think he understood that he had a right to come to your mothers house to inquire for you when 243 ■H'j.ji Pauline. i you were ill ? I mean, that he had special rights, beyond those of mere acquaintances ? " " Oh, yes," said Alice, simply, " he had every right. Mother does not like him very well, because she does not know him ; but she has' never kept him from coming here to see me. It was his pride did that ; pride, and a shrink- ing from havmg me talked about in this neigh- borhood before he was ready for talk, you know. He felt that, keenly, I am sure ; but I thought when I was so very sick that — " She did not complete her sentence. Constance had one more question to ask. " Darling, did he ever write to you ? That is — do you know his handwriting? " " Oh, yes," said Alice, " yes, indeed ! he has written notes to me frequently; and letters, sonietimes. And he has copied a number of choice bits for me. Oh, I would know his hand anywhere; he is a beautiful writer. I wonder why you asked that.? Oh, do you mean — " She sat erect, looking radiant. "El- len, have you a note for me that you think mav be from him ? " ' " No," said Constance, quickly. " No, dar- ling, I haven't. And I am going to hurt you now ; but you will understand, won't you, that it is because I must? Do you know this writing ? And will you read this letter ? It is addressed to me, you see, and I received it yesterday." 244 A Climax. ,u ^''t .r?.""** ^^"^ '«"'' a'niost of hunger in the child s eyes, as she grasped at the letter addressed ma familiar hand ; it was, as she had said, " beautiful writing." It began abruptly without preliminaries of any sort. " You are cruel ; you are hard ! I would not have believed that you could be as cruel as you have been to me. Because in my eagerness to know — yes, nnd to love you, I will not mince words now — I made a mistake and treated you with a freedom that your pride resented, you cannot forgive me! Such treatment is unpar- alleled. I cannot believe that you understand me. rour reference, the last time I tried to talk to you, to that silly child with whom I have played, sometimes, shows me that you do not Withm a few days it has occurred to me that perhaps the little girl actually believes, because 1 have petted her and told her I was fond of her, as one might tell a pet kitten, of course, that 1 am serious, and has been filling your ears with preposterous ideas. Yet I should think you could know that it would be impossible for me to be seriously interested in a girl like Alice Bristow. The thought is too absurd to put into words ! If you had given me the slightest opportunity I would have told you loni ago that I am interested in you alone of all the world, and that I stand ready to give, you not 245 Pauline. only ray love, but my name and all that it m- volves, no matter what your past may be. How human being could well do more than that is beyond my imagination. May I not now claim at least your courtesy, instead of the absolute scorn with which you have been repaying all my efforts to see you of late ? I need sign no name, you will know from whom this comes, and I need not try to tell you how eagerly I shall await an answer." "He stands ready to give me his name," Constance had sneered when she read that sen- tence, "and yet is too complete a coward to dare to sign it to this letter ! Does the villain think that I am the sort of woman who would trust him ? " Paler, if possible, than the girl who read, she stood watching, waiting, her heart torn with conflicting questions. Had she been too cruel ? Had she over- estimated the child's strength .' Might not the suddenness of the blow cause a relapse ? Was there some less cruel way in which she could have unmasked wickedness ? The letter was read, and read again, slowly, as though every word in it was being weighed. Watching her eyes it seemed to Constance that they were going a third time over the cruel lines. Suddenly Alice dropped the paper and closed !*« ejrea,. 246 A Climax. Constance took two steps and was beside her. "Darling ! " she said, bathing the white fore- head from the bottle she had snatched as she passed. " No," said Alice, " I am not faint ; I am not gomg to faint. Ellen, would you mind leaving me for a few minutes quite alone ? " Constance turned and without a word went swiftly and softly into the next room. 247 XX. opportunity. MR. GORDON CURTISS sat at his office desk a pile of unopened let- that he had grown old during die past year- thl^^T tT ""^^ ^'^ "°' hesitateSo affirm that he looked ten years older than he had the that there had been other changes as well He was quieter in speech and manner than he used to be; less assertive, perhaps, more lenient to the opinions of others, more interested in the world outside of his own little world These fhVn'H. Tu' ^^^^^^'Prised many of his old fnends. They had looked to see him grow passionate, intolerant, indifferent as to wTiom ^w'^ A "^'"f '" Y'^ ^-^^^ •"«fe to accom- plish, and to show all those other signs of an overwrought nervous condition whicf circum- «h";h;! 4'" I ''r'^' e^^^" '^™ 'he right to "d more !".''• ^''°"''^'jn«"d, grow calmer and more deeply interested in human life gen- erally, was not only a surprise, but, to tHose 248 opportunity. who did not understand the source of his strength, it was a bewilderment. fe.^ Tl T' '' ''"'' ^""- C°«"ry to the fi?m K u ^""^ P?1"''?' '^'■- ^^^'^^^ had kept TnT. ''"'^ "P°" J'" '"'"""s and made progress in .t. while, at the same time, he undoubtedly place " ^° " '"°"'^' P*''''*P' '''"'" *° » *''''-d. H.2" i*" '''°i"''^ '^"P *" ''"'''""s plans sud- who believed he had news of his wife, was to IVn^'f' ^""'M^^ should often 'sacrifiS his own financial interests in order to take up some work for humanity - work that, so far as they could see, had nothing to do with the problem upon which he was ever engaged — was certainlv a new phase of his character. All ""wi? T^V''" *'='■«= attributed to him. sion^' fL "5^"/°'''?"^'"' "B'-"kf«t Mis- sion, the Wanderers' Home," and kindred institutions, solemn whispers floated about as to whether it were possible that he had heard things to make him fear that his wife S have fallen very low indeed ! But when it was ir.rn^V'^f he went quite as frequently to the 'Orphans Home" and to the "Boys' Reformatory " and finally, that he taught a i,!^^':^ ^'^^''^ ''ir °°" - '^^ ''^"-n-^ed msdtution, the world was puzzled. Charles Gordon Curtss teaching a class of depravS 249 ■',1 HI : I f^^ youngtten in a Reformatory ! V he hope to accomplish by that? What coakl ™.:-i.»V " --—• "K"*"' "7 "-nat? and what mwht he not do new? ..nl!i!!^ r""! "^ ^•''^ '*'''° ""^w him well, and ir^Zff " ''^' '^r *''" ■'^ ^« talking daily in die footsteps of the Nazarene. ^ Certainly Gordon Curtiss had grown much durmg the year. The "following" had kd tern i«o strange roads, and given 1,im experi- ences such as he had not before known were AU his engagements, whether of business or Sh! W T^' "^T ^""ditional. Always Srirt . ?w"'^"i '■''^""'' '° ^°' ^' ^'^ hour's ^e. to the ends of the eartK if need be, in response, to a call from Dilsey, or from any of those who were m his employ, to continue that w^ search. Though as tL months passed wid th« offiaals tramed to searching gave no bnt of success, Mr Curtiss grew to feeling that his workers had practically dwindled to Za' -5' 7' ^ """"ccessfiil as the others, f^^mtkn her an element of dogged persever- ance, that gave him renewed courage as often as he came m contact with it. She would J«ver give up the search, she assured him. so long as she had breath in her body." Gto«onally she encouraged him by a sokia "Mwweement that she "ffck in herbone»«h* 2'5ia opportunity. should find her." Mr. Curtisa always knew to which woman the pronoun referred. Numerous had been the journeys that he had taken at Dilsey's call, and strange had been the experiences which her possible clews had opened to him. Once she wrote : — " It isn't the same woman at all. This is a girl, real young, and in lots of trouble. She hasn't the same colored hair, or eyes, or any- thing, but her name is Pauline, and you told me to be on the watch for that." Forlorn as such a hope was, Mr. Curtiss could not get the consent of himself to ignore this information — could not even decide to wait to write to Dilsey and secure all sorts of fiirther particulars about the girl with the fate- fol name. Instead, he started that evening for the distant town where Dilsey had found employment, and looked into all the details for himself They had nothing whatever to do with him or his, yet, when he knew the story, and looked at the hollow-eyed, frightened, misguided child whose feet had taken hold upon dangerous paths, he knew at once that if he was indeed following Jesus of Nazareth, he must not cross to the other side and leave her to her temptations and her sorrows. Yet what could he do ? He spent half the night in studying the problem, and the other half itt witiiig a. long letter to Mrs. Ellia» who wmj 251 wi| Pauiine. ing herself T" rLfrafui.'' "' ""^ "''' P™- eral times the name "r.n ^ '^ *° '"^P^" *^^- to Mr. Curt S" he?p ^SS M "PT'* for reasons known toTr^elf *'''•■ *''°' 252 Opportunity. ^ \ ur"** ^'- ^"™*''' who knew that the probabiLtics that that young man and h" own Constance had ever come «fthin the sound Of each others names, was very slight indeed yet went at once, impelled by \ foL that he Goi aT '"'."• '" V""''^ °^ ^'"^ ' »"d 'hanked God afterward on his knees that he had thus been used as the hand to come between that young soul and ruin. The story is long, and the by-paths into which it led winding and far?,?- ^\'^'^^ "°' ^' '^''J ^'^^' o"'y so far as to say that it took time and money and prayer and perseverance to accomplish the great result atmed for-but it was accomplish Mr. Curt.ss,when he told his friend and co- laborer Mrs. Ellis much of the story in dcS\ closed with the words, accompanied by the eyes to see, "There is another mother, now praying for me and mine." ' Strange experiences (at least they seemed strange to the newly enlisted worker) followed neariy all of Dilsey's calls, so that the earnest tTme f„ fnir' °"ly "^or^firmlv resolved each .r,\ V Tr^P.*"" "''g'^f"' f"'"'. but began Lfivr'''['°'^"l"'y '^ '' «=°"1'1 be possPble that without this violent wrenching away of all h.s plans and hopes, he would have been con- tent to live his easy, happy life, unmindful of other lives filled to the trim with trouble and 253 Pauline, h?!J^n T*^ ''^- ^^^ *''* *»^" ""d Allows had rolled over him "He that loveth his hfe shall lose it." Was that what the words meant r As he sat at his desk that morning, he was . conscious of being more weary than usual. He had just passed through a hard week in court, and there was a young fellow in prison for whose acquittal he had wrestled and suffered defeat and his heart was heavy. He turned over his letters wearily, feeling that perhaps he was not equal, just yet, to shouldering other burdens than his own. Wait! here was a etter from D.lsey. He seized upon it with the hunger and the hope that always rose in his heart at the sight of her peculiar hand. «er mrasages were always brief and to the point. They began without circumlocution of Ses"' *' **'^" ''^* customary opening "I'm working in the hospital that has eot Jts name at the top of this sheet of paper, rheres a man here who was hurt in some fuss ; he IS out of his head, and has been, ever Mnce they brought him here. I heard the doctor say that he was going to die. Last night the head nurse called me to keep watch beside him. I was there for two hours, and ft« kept muttering something the whole living opportunity. kno I L Sometimes he would say that out real sharp and plain, as though he was calling somebody. I thought you would want to ow It; so I am writing this for the morning il. I just got off duty." * .f ^\' ^"i'u". ""^^^^ 'in« rapidly, looked at his watch looked at a railway time table fastened to the wall beside his desk; seized a sheet of paper and wrote rapidly a few lines thereon, then arose and opened the door to the inner office. "Mr Chase" he said, "I have been called ^l^^ tf.'i^^ '^^ eleven-forty train Tell Mr. Alfred Curtiss that he will Lve to look after the matter that I was to work up 1 he papers are in my desk, each one marked, and here is the kev. A message sent to the address written here will reach me." He had copied the address found on Dilsey's letter head. Away there "said Mr. Chase, glancing ^\^s^'■ '"''' ^'" '' ^-^ f' -- " That I cannot tell," said Mr. Curtiss " I'U wire if detained. I haven't time for anything more ; good morning." * ."Another wild-goose chase ! " said the gray- haired confidential clerk with a long^lrawn sigh ; but he said rt to himself ^ *J5 «f Pauline, ll Dilsey, in white gown and cop, looking the perfection of a nurse, saw Mr. Curtiss wiUking> down the lona hall before he had caught sight, of her. She had been on the lookout for him since the first through train was due; she understood the man by whom she was em- ployed. " Yes, sir," she said, " he is alive, but that is aboi^t all. He doesn't talk any more. The doctor said he didn't believe he would notice anythina; again; but I shouldn't wonder if he would, for all that. They can't tell ; I've seen them mistaken lots of times. " No, sir, they don't know a thing about him ; his pocket-book had a little money in it, but nothing else to show what his name was, or where he belonged. They told me all about it, and let me watch with him day and night, because I told them that he kept repeating the name of a woman I knew, and I wanted to be on hand if he said anything more. But he didn't, only once ; he roused up from a stupor and^ looked rieht at me, and said, ' Aunt Nlar- ian,' in a kind of troubled way, as though he , winted me to tell him where she was ; but he dropped right back to sleep again, and hasn't . said another word." . ~ Mr. Curtiss controlled the impulse to utter ^ an exclamation. It might be, probably was.I ajijo-e coincidence; the name "Marian"! Was."-. 256 opportunity. wmmon enough, but it had been h! -rother'a Me went through the proper forms, . fvj secu-cd permission to see the dymg mai. - he , 'r. that he might know somethi;.- „. i,;, „u EJlsey presently led the way -■' Sii. bai-^^V Mr. Curtiss bent over and 'fudic • t^'' >a1 in ftce, Jtrongly marked with lir, -s of rasr (ivmg, and hfted with fingers that tnirMu' Ms^'ofy the masses of curly brown hair from hi- ten v I revealing as he did so a long zigzaa . • • tlitn he spoke to the watching Dflsey : "I know him ; he is my cousin. We thought he was long since dead." Of course, after that, no time was lost in presenting his claim to watch beside the dying, in the liope of a con- scious moment. " It isn't at all likely," said the house physi- cian, "that he will recover consciousness. Oh, yes, of course, sometimes they do. We don't profess to be certain about those things; but I should sav that there wasn't one chance in twenty in this case." So the watcher established himself at a little distance from the bed, where no movement oi the sleeper could escape his eye, and watched and waited through the long night. The ut- most quiet reigned in the ward, and so fer as outward appearance was concerned, the watcher might have been quietly sleeping; but in reality every sense was awake, and every nerve Pauline. tense. There were times when, with all hisself- control — and his life during the past year, at least, had been a continued education in self- control— it seemed impossible to keep himself from grasping the shoulder of that sleeping man, and shrieking into his dull ear : « Man, man ! who is Pauline ? You have no rime to' sleep, and you have no right to die until you answer questions locked up with life and death to others. Who is Pauline ? And oh, above everything else. Where is Pauline ? " For be- cause this was his cousin, and because he had muttered the name « Pauline " in his delirium, a wild hope — or wai, it a wild fear— had taken hold of Mr. Curtiss's heart. He was not sure what it was, only it seemed to him that that man must not die until he had questioned him. If a kind of frenzy of petition for one thing without an « if" is prayer, then Mr. Curtiss prayed. Dilsey, who had kept untiring watch until the coming of this new watcher, had been re- lieved from duty that night ; but in the gray of the morning she stole in, had a word with the attendant, and relieved him. Soon after- ward she drew back from her watch over the djfing man and motioned Mr. Curtiss forward. The man's eyes were wide open, and their expression suggested sanity. "Where am I ?" he said, looking wonder- 258 I opportunity. • « You can't be Gordon ! " he said. res, said Mr. Curtiss.in utmost quietness of tone and manner « I am Gordon^and you arc Charles; and I did not know until last mght that you were living " «thiu!?"T'' *'''"^' *"."''! "''I **>« «^k man; I ,nf I ''='"="'^«'. J thought I was killed. 1 am, 1 guess. Gomg to die, ain't I ' " His eyes rested inauiringly on Dilscy's face, and waiting for no reply he aided, - It has come a httle sooner than I thought." Then, "Gordon do you know anything aBout Pauline ? " Mr. Curtiss placed an iron hand upon his nerves, and still spoke quietly. P"" "'» "Only that you repeated her name in your dehnum. Who is she, Charles, and whc« l . "I wish I knew ! She is my wife. She was m Florence but she isn't noi I wenf S was'gtgtmt?'""^'* '''^' «°"^ ''°— ' He spoke in detached sentences, as thoueh resiling with difficulty the steps by whTcHe had come. Mr Curtiss held'himself to si! £rn'm«r^Tt" ''y '''" •"«'"« »>« 'night breath of excitement might hasten the end began again: — 259 Pauline, "There's a boy, too; named for me — and for you. With this last there was a pitiful attempt at a smile. Then, with a sudden in- crease of voice, as though he had summoned his forces for a tremendous effort, "Gordon won't you find them ? " "I will give my life to the search ! " said trordon Curtiss, with a fervor that Dilsey, who heard every word, could understand. It was sfle who had some conception of the aneuish that wrung his soul as he asked the ques- tion : — ^ « S.'**'"'**' '^*"'* y°" give me any clew ? " No, ^ said the sick man, " I can't; not if she didn t go home. I kept hoping that. I deserted her. I've never — seen — the — boy. I — his voice had grown fainter ; suddenly It ceased. ^ V I 260 XXI. A Lost Opportunity. THE head nurse came forward, reproof m her voice. 1 J ,"^^ °"g''* no' to have been al- lowed to talk so mu^ch. You must not try now &" •''"" '° '^y ''"y*'''"g niore-n« now. He is very weak." There was no opportunity for trying. All day they watched and waited. Several time enteTcl"" T"^'^ '° '^^^^' *»d """tS sentences or phrases so disconnected and so wandering Once he opened his eves and ooked full at Mr. Curtiss, and the unsatisfied He won't sense anything again sir " thr head nurse said to the w'atchef; Sd she meant o convev a kind of pity for him Tnl r tone 'f he reaily cared. "That wa. just a flicke; 261 Pauline. ~ ^ I of strength he had, this morning, bifore goinie out. iri were you I would go to belani try to pt some rest." But Mr. Curtiss never stirred from his post, and the nurse was right. Just as they wirc moving softly about, putting out the shaded lights because a new day was coming, Dilsey .^TK "1. '^u u^"""""^'" ^™ ""d murmured The, breath has stopped." " You knew him, did you ? " asked the phv- siaan, as he stopped for a moment beside the clay. What is his name ? " "Curtiss — Charles Gordon Curtiss; he is an own cousin of. mine, sir, who has been lost sight of and supposed dead for years. I wiU teke charge of all details, and pay all bills." As he spoke Mr. Curtiss handed his business card to the physician. "Why!" said Dilsey "why-" and then she stopped. She had followed her employer to the ha 1, still in wide-eyed wonder, and waited beside him. "Yes," he said, answering the question that respect for him prevented her putting, "we had the same name, Dilsey, throughout. I have not thought of him at ail in connection with my trouble, because we believed that he died a violent death in California years ago. He broke away from us all and went out there ■When he watf a boy, and we had every reason 262 A Lost Opportunity. g "^I'/ye th« the young man we buried not long fttterward was my cousin." "But now--" said Dilsey. and stopped again, unable to express the rush of quesHons that came to her. »k"^"u'" ^^?^< "now we understand some- thing about It, at least. It was his wife who came to mine, doubtless, with her story, what- ever It was. She may have had a deep-laid scheme of some sort that did not develop in the way she thought it would. If he could only have told me something more ! " • Now," muttered Dilsey, as the head nurse came to speak to Mr. Curtiss, and she had fouST" ***''' "*'"'* ^""''"^ ^^ ''°'^ *° •'* There was a long, solemn journey home- ward for Mr. Curtiss. accompanied by the clay tenement that his cousin had left. There had ^f.u^'^T "="^' annoumring his coming and that of his companion. Hearse and car- nage and clergyman, and members of the great law firm of Curtiss, Curtiss and Gordon, met hinr at the train, and the funeral cortege moved with all outward circumstance to the burial place where the Curtisses of several generations were lying Every mark of respect was ac- corded to that poor handfiil of dust which had borne the honored name. The local papers gave fiill accounts of it ail next day, dwelling 263 I i > . t! after the manner xrf local rBpoit«as)3iAhuS»n- se^olIS.^p^de on tbe detsHs, «nd=dedarji»'that despite the long estrangement from hirftnily, and the ignormg o; all ties. between them- on thenart of the deceased, his cousin, Charlei tiordon^ Curtiss, our distinguished townsman, hastened to his bedside the moment that word was received of the accident which caused his death, and had lavished upon him all the at- tention that could have been given to a brother beloved. Also, he had himself seen to it that every mmute detail connected with the last sad rites were of such character as became one who had borne the name of Curtiss." And this was as much as the public knew about the connection of that buried clay with the tragedy of their townsman's life. ^The evening following the funeral Mr. Curtiss went to Deepwater, and insisted upon an interview with th. Kenyon and his son. 1 o them he explained in detail the story of his cousin's hfe, so far as he himself knew it. u ^a' ^^"y^" ^*« prompt to hold out his hand to the wronged man, and to sav ■th techng; — ' ' ,"} '^ope you can forgive me for adding to a burden which seems almost too heavy for a man to bear. God knows 1 am sorry for having stabbed at you instead of tryine to comfort you." . . 264 A Lost OppBrtunity, *^««A««l ttiH hdd aloof. Wftyhtve we never before heard of tint he «ked haughtily. « It would seem reason- would at once have thought of a scaoe- gr«e cousin, if he had one who b.re exactly .■i* -""If I.-""'' '.' '''"'^'^^f' "^d «^"W have imagined him as in some way connected with the mystery. How are we to know that Cunissr"^' "'" ^"^ * ^''"'"'' ^'^^ " Richard ! " said his fether, but Mr. Curtiss aIVTi^'^-k "' ^^ ^^^ "» much E throsts like these seemed pin pricks. .11 ^""ly?" «lo« right," he said, "to require Mr Kenyon, spent his boyhood at the old Curtiss homestead in town. He was well- known to many reputable citizers now livine It would be a very easy matter to inquire of almost any of the old families knOwnT us both, and they would vouch for mv truth :« this respect. Moreover, it is quite w-1 knr^wn among our old friends that the nam.- . . fkm" heirloom, handed down, and dow.. A!' th. brothers, tor generations back. ga-. Is o = t eldest sons, and are doing so stifi • s„ ♦Vif i- ■s not in the least distinctive. As a naa. of tact, there are four persons beside syseM .Ty,-. 265 zsjc^auline. . j. I lit nected with our family, arill liying, who write- their namea Cli«ric« Gordon Curtiss. Biit they are either «hl neti or cWldren, and thc^^e^ were excellewt reaaonn why they need not be mought of in conn . "jn with my trouble. For the one I hav" o^n- But Sri^K "" " ''.f'""*' «"'! ^''''"kless task what'^L^alTedte/- :''. '°'"'»'' -«"'«! w»t« was called her interference, and befor*. her nephew was ten years old the aunt had been compelled to abandon her hoi of „flu SSmff T'^'^^P'^'T-ith whiS thejoor" 268 ^ Lost Opportunity. |^JJ«; «^^'ly «he might ,eem to be-dd5 - - Jt came to be well known .mong the circle the most of his fortune under hw own control before he was twenty, and then he had started suddenly for Cahfornia. ostensibly on a pleasure tnp though the mner circle knew that the im- mediate cause of h,8 going was that he had had a bitter quarre with his mother. A year had intervened, during which he was not so much S heard from, and then had come what had been supposed to be the end -a terrible railroS accident, and the charred remains of victims aniong whom some who were worthy of trust beheved that they found young Curtlss. Th" coffin conuining the unrecognizable dust had been brought home and buried with due honoi. and the stricken mother had put on once more her mourning garb, and lived the remainder of her life alone. What had become of the hand- some fortune that her sen had carried away with him was never discovered, though the surviving Gordon Curtiss had made a jLneJ Catherine s behalf. It was generally believed ^at the money had been s Jandere^ if half the stories gathered in California as to it» reckless use were true, his coysin felt th^^ 269 maocon kesolution tisi chart (ANSI ond ISO TEST CHART No. 2) 1.0 [fi^ 1^ II f "^ m ^ APPLIED IM^GE In 1^--^ 5653 EoBl Main Street 5^S Rochester, Se« York 14609 USA ■^— (716) *82 - 0300 - Phone ^S ('16) 288 - 5989 - Fox ;), Pauline. yris not difficult to understand how it had c.n\ ;^'?°'l'^ °{ ^^J' '"^'"g^ considered, it can hardly be thought surprising that this friend, nf.h^'/'u"T"' °' '^''' '^' "^w^r friends of the family had not so much as heard of the existence of another Charles Gordon Lurtiss belonging to the same generation. ;„ ^ h A""'^' ^".'^ * ^"""^'^^ ^i^'d chapters in It that have not been mentioned, passed be- fore the mental vision of the silent watcher who sat with shaded face and seemed to be sleeping. He remembered how his mother had mourned for « Charles." He could seem to hear her sad voice wondering if there had not been something more that she might have ned to do to wm him if she had but realized the shortness of the time. During the first part of the night Mr. Cur- tiss had been m the clutches ofa wild desire to hear more from the dying man. He might St h' ""g''*«P"k again; people near^o death had remarkably clear insight sometimes ; he might be able to speak some word that would help them in their terrible search. If there had been but time to tell him something of the awful tiecessity that was upon them to search perhaps that would have helped him to think of some clew. Later, as the conviction settled UDon the watcher that his cousin had 270 A Lost Opportunity. spoken his last word on earth, and was no longer within the reach of human voices, the wl'^l^/u^ S"=** """*"■''*= ""^''^d over him. Why had he wasted those k^ precious minutes in efforts that were futile, when he might have used them to help a soul groping in darkness ? How certainly his mother would have seized such opportunity ! Nay, how certainly would the One whose example he had vowed to foilow have waived all selfish interests and reached after a soul ! It is a solemn thing for a sensi- tive, honorable nature to sit facing the memory of a responsibility that he has let slip, and real- ize that It has passed forever. But Mr Cur- tiss was able, after a time, to put even his remorse aside and betake himself to prayer tor the passing soul. . ^!l^"„^i'^y "^""^ '°"'='^««1 his arm and mur- mured, "The breath has stopped," he had risen and bent over the motionless clay, and looked long and earnestly at the features that were already beginning to take on the dignity of death. He knew that he was looking at the remnant of a wasted life. Among the few words that the dying man had been able to speak, there stood out three that told, as well as a volume could have done, the story of that wrecked life. « I deserted her." That wretched i'aulinc, whatever she was, had been a de- serted wife. Yes, and there had been a boy, 2.71 ■*l Pauline. a " namesake," and he too was deserted ! Did they need to know anything more about those years during which he had been a blank to his family ? There was just one little gleam of hope. He had wanted to find them — his wife and boy ; he had started in search of then , he was on his way home when the fatal accident occurred. Perhaps - h, perhaps ! God was very merciful and very patient, and this man's mother and aunt had prayed for him for many years. If only he had asked him when he had a chance, " Charles, have you come home to Jesus Christ?" Well, it was all over now. But the man who stood and watched the king called Death stamp the impress of immortality even on the deserted clay, made solemn pledge, not that he would be true to the trust imposed upon him by the dead, that was unnecessary, but that, God help- ing him, he would never again stand facing a lost opportunity. *7* XXII. Crown yeweh. IT was an August evening following upon a day of breathless he? " ol breezes were sweeping up now fr, Me lake, and in the neighborhood where the Bristows lived doors and window-blinds had been set wide open to catch them all. The dwellers in the houses were largely on their small porches: some had even taken chairs and stools and gone down to the sidewalk; anything to get cool. The people in that neighborhood be- longed chiefly to the class that cannot close their houses with the first breath of summer and flee to ocean or mountain resorts. Steady work and hmited means held them, as a rule at home. Mrs. Bristow and Constance, however, had planned a two weeks' vacation in the coun- try. Alice and the youngest daughter, who was not quite well, had already gone, and were boarding m a comfortable farm-house but two miles removed from the lake ; and situated, if Alice s eyes and feelings were to be trusted, on such a splendid great hill that it simply could not be hot." ^ ' Pauline. During the past winter, and the summer thus far, Constance's work had prospered. She had lived through another twenty-first of June with its haunting memories, and was well started on her third year of independent work. Those June anniversaries to which she had looked forward with a kind of terror had been merci- fully taken care of for her. The first one had been so absorbed by anxious cares for Alice as to give her no time for going over her sorrow in detail; and the June just lived through had found her busied, heart and hand, in the sor- rows of others ; for their anxieties had ended in bereavement, and they were a family who had learn>;d to lean upon Constance. God had not left her without witnesses to the worth of the life she was living. She had early found, what some Christian workers have yet to lesrn, that the road to hearts lies oftentimes by way of the most commonplace of domestic duties. She earned her living by sweeping and dusting and fruit-canning, and a dozen other homely back-door occupations; but she lived in order to show forth the strength and the beauty of a life "hid with Christ in God." She Tiad plans for the coming winter that would besure to absorb all the extra funds she could secure, and with these iii mind she had watched with deepest interest the steadily increasing hoard that her bank accoxint witnessed to. " • a-^ 274 Crcmm yewe/s. «-ji K '.XS*"^'^ ^°''"'""*''«l»"' 8h« had sa d to herself but that morning, with a tender httle laueh for the old-fashioned word that she used to hear. Still, despite hi;r plans, and her ngid economies because of them, she felt that .. this little respite in the country for two weeks was perhaps needed. At least Mrs. Bristow needed it, and there was serious doubt of being able to persuade that good woman to go, unless her lodger went also. Certainly Constance could not longer kd that she was quite alone m the world. In the heart of the practical stroiig-souled New England woman had grown top such a vigorous regard for the young woman who had come to her a stranger, without refer- ences, as she had never before bestowed upon people not of her own kin. In truth, she had adopted the lonely young woman from another world than hers into her mother-heart. There was a sense, it is true, in which she leaned upon Constance, adored her, even reverenced her but there was another sense in which she' mothered her; watched over her health «fld her comfort, ordered her about in the matter of rubbers and extra wraps,, and petted^ her jn the way of httle appetizing ^•treats.": auitc -as she did her own children. In short, there were dozens of practical pleasant ways in which -_ Ellen Stuart had been mad^ to feel tfest-she belonged to th» warm-hearted fiimily. Ifewas ^^75 ill II u I -(11 i Pauline. ^ balm to the sore heart to realize this. Unlike as they were in many respects, far apart as some of their tastes were, she revelled in their love. She stood, on this evening, framed in the doorway, and watched the tired people sitting about in various attitudes of abandonment to fatigue, and thought of contrasts. What a busy, work-a-day world this was into which she had come! How utterly unlike the world that she had; known before. What, for instance, would the residents of Deepwater think of such a scene as this photographed in the brill- iant moonlight ? There was old father Grier- son in his shirt sleeves, with a pipe in his mouth with which he was spoiling all the air that he could reach. Fatner Grierson was seventy-one ; yet he had worked hard all day out in the burning sun, and doubtless expected to work hard to-monow; and despite the pipe which she hated was a decent and self-re- specting citizen who nodded to her his kindly "How d'y' do, Ellen? " as often as he chanced to meet her. And she would have gone to him, on occasion, for any kindness that lay in his power to bestow, as quickly as she would to any man she had ever known. Yet what would — her cousin Richard, for instance, feel like saying to a man of that stamp who should nod to her familiarly and call her by her Chris- tian name ? She always, even yet, made a 276 Crown Jewels. irental blank before thinking definitely of any man who belonged to her past life, and drew her breath with a little pitiful catch as she re- minded herself that one name was not to bt thought about. Then there was Mrs. Blakeman sitting on the step just above father Grierson ; she had her sleeves still rolled to the elbow, and had probably just come from the kitchen where she had been washing the dishes that her seven men boarders " had used at their late supper and making arrangements for their very early breakfast. Constance had "done up" Mrs. Blakeman's best curtains for her but a few weeks before, and received her hearty commen- dation because they looked so " nice." Then while the good woman counted out the money tor which Constance waited, she had said : — " Sit right down, Ellen, and have a dish of my ' poor man's pudding,' do ! There's just enough left for you. I made it the way you told me, and the men all praised it to the skies." And Constance had taken the offered seat and eaten the pudding from a saucer that was cracked and a spoon that had been plated many years ago, and had pronounced it as good as she could make herself What would Rich- ard Kenyon have thought of that.? Two worlds she had known, this woman who was 277 tw^ty-seven, two distinct worlds, 'to MdtcaHyc utAtke, that the inhabitants of the one oughtr not to be expected to understand the environ- ments of the other. How many more worlds were there ? She had herself worked hard that August day and was tired; yet the coolness and the moonlight were so entrancing that she could not leave them just yet. She had but t'ust come home from a ministration in the louse arpund the corner where there was ill- ness. She could hear Mrs. Bristow moving about her kitchen whither she had probably gone with some housewifely thought for the next day's comfort. Kate, her second daugh- ter, was helping her and chattering to her. By and by they would come to the door and look out for a minute on the moonlighted world ; then Mrs. Bristow would say ; " Well, Kate, you and I must get to bed; to-morrow is coming as fast as it can, and we must be up eariy and get a lot of work done before the htat is upon us. Are you ready to come, Ellen-? " Then they would all go to the sit- ting room, and Mrs. Bristow would read a few virses out of what she now called " the Book," and they would kn6el, and it would be the niother's turn to cbmmend them all, "the dear ojtes here with me, and the dear ones in the ' cfitintry*-"- to the- Father's keeping. Yes, they had family worship ))ow. Mr». Bristow had: Crmm Jevoeh, foHnd-^the yny to the Father's ear, and had learned to bnne her daily cares and crosses and comforts and leave them alike in His hands. Constance's heart was filled with grateful joy as often as she thought of that good woman's assured faith and steady progress in the Chris- tian life. There had been other experiences throueh the year, that had left her grateful. It was now some four months since Fred Emer- son had gone where his wearisome cough would trouble him no more. A hard winter »* ""• *''*' '*** °"« of 'lis short life More and more he had chafed under the re- straints that watchful physician and anxious mother had tried to put upon him. His fre- (juent rebellions bringing always swift fruitage m days of pain and weakness] yet seemed to teach him nothing; until at last one fatal week of recklessness proved too much for his en- feebled constitution, and those who went in and^ out ministering to him, knew, long before he did, that poor Fred Emerson had done his worst for that long-suffering body. What months were those during which he came slowly and rebellic.sly into the knowledge that he had taken his last walk through the busy streets, and that he must very soon be done with this worid which had always seemed toJiim so rich and satisfying ! 279 ..'!i Pauline, Constance, who, after Mr. Henry Emerson departed for a winter in Berlin, might almost have been said to live at the Emerson home, looked back upon her experience there as, in some respects, the most trying of any in this new life of hers. She wondered, sometimes, if u"l *=°"'<1 be a single subject with regard to which she and Mrs. Emerson were not antago- nistic. Yes, there was one. Thev both had deep and, unfaltering interest in the 'invalid boy who was steadily slipping from their care ; but their ways of showing that interest were antipo- u" l'^° ^^^ '° embarrassments, Fred, who had never been trained to exercise a mo- ment's Self-control, had hours when he would not listen to his mother — would not even suf- fer her presence in the room. "I love her to distraction," he said once, apologetically to Constance, after he had spoken so sharplv to his mother that she had gone away suddenly to hide the tears. " Of course I love her ! no fellow ever had a better mother, and I know it ; but she drives me crazy some- times, for all that. Always wanting me to have another blanket over my feet, and to turn my eyes from the light, and have my head bathed with some muss or other, and cover my shoul- der from the draught, when there isn't air •enough to harm a mosquito ! I tell you, I can't stand it ! .I'll commit suicide and finish 280 Crmun yewels. 1« the doctor in. nor anybod/clsc Wha of them ; I wish they would all go off to fi,! wouldn't you? Nice old Fit . °^ "'^' orders that the patient should be klDt nlea SVr:riJe'°r 'T' ^"-V'-'ng -ntS ot i-reds hfe; for all practical purposes, sh. 281 1 m 'lilHi I became his nurse. It was aU over now. -The, - bc9r,,.with Jus hand in. his mother's and with-' her name as his last-murmured word, had gone v his way ; and the mother, with her head oh t-onstance's shoulder, had sobbed out her.grati- tudejor all that she had been to them in their trouble, especially for all that she had done- tor her darling boy. She had lavished gifts innumerable upon her, besides paying her roy- " ally in rioney ; and she had not ceased to sound her praised to any who would listen. Think- ing it over, Constance had wondered what that same grateful mother would have said had she known that her other son, who returned from " Germany but the day before Fred went away, had made her a formal offer of his hand in ' marriage and been refused. Could the mother have been made to believe that any woman in her senses would have refused her eldest son ' But, harder even than that, could she have been made to believe that he had offered. mar- riage to a paid servant in her employ ? Some- times Constance could almost have smiled over - the debt^of gratitude that Mrs. Emerson owed her. If she had but known it. What a terrible blow rt would have been if she, Ellen Stuart SOTietmie carpet sweeper, curtain washer, nurse,, wtat not, had accepted the name of Emerson, ' and compelled them to receive her as an cquai' F§t mall Mrs. rEhierson's^ratitude,- she^et-itj 282. Crozxm yewe/s. ■j«t" cS ,??„„■•;' """I'd' "'T ■^" tl^Joveliese kind of a'croT„ r«d; ^"1^;^ S&art by the time she comes.' " ^ 283 • j; Pauline, If ' 1 1' I ArouBh her fiirnace during all these wearing months and years, but surely "the form of the fourth' was with her ! Then there was Alice, her sweet fair flower over whom she had been so anxious lest 4he should droop under the weight of pain and shame that her misplaced confidence had brought upon her. On that morning when Constance had been asked to ^eave her ouite alone, and had gone away, she had waited in the next room in an ^ony of remorse and fear. Had she killed the poor little flower that had just begun to rally from the storm of illness ? Oh, sKe had been cruel ! She ought to have waited until there was greater physical strength to bear such a shock. If the child were to have a relapse now as she was sure she would, and If she should die! oh, how could it ever be borne! She had walked the floor in agony and had listened for sounds from the next room and been sure that the girl would faint, would die! She had been simply borrowing trouble. The girl's sweet, brave heart, an? chored as it was upon the Rock, did not fail in this emergency, did not even falter. There was no relapse into illness, as Con- stance had feared, there was a scarcely per- ceptible halt in the march toward health It is true that the doctor had looked at her 284 Crown Jewels. said, You have not earned as much to-dav as you did yesterday,'^ and her mother ffl that she hi K ''"''^"'^d with a brave smile that she had been thmking hard «nd was a httle t.red; she should begetter to morSw She had returned Constance's good-night Idls with even more than her usual tendernSs and snr£'H;h?.^"''^^-"^'^'^^^--^rit forlerl'"' *'^ ^^ *''" ""''^"" ^"'•"^d «>»- »85 I i I i . ". 'iS i'.r. sri? 'li' no? ' "'■ xxiir. ^ New Burden. THERE was one respect in which Alice Bristow astonished her friend. Lean- Uig on Constance, as she undoubtedly did, in other matters, she insisted gently on keeping herself auite to herself with regard to that fiery trial of hers. She would not talk about It, nor about the one who had made htr his victim. The morning after those hours in which she had asked to be left alone, she called tor pencil and paper, and made no secret w" h ^onshince of the fact that she was writing to Mr. tmerson. Cotistance knew that her letter was long, but she had sealed and addressed it hereelf, simply handing it to Constance to post, and speaking no word, either then or afterward with re^rd to its contents. It was some days afterward that Constance received a very di^- ; flified and explicit offer of marriage from Mr -Henry Emerson, with his full name signed to the letter. She had the pleasure of replying to this in such fashion as women rarelf have occasion to use in return for a sapposed Iwnor conferred. Within t\vo weeks of its sehdiHg 286 •*' A New Burden. she heard incidentally that Mr. Henrv Emi-r pected development o/business matters to nUn for a year's residence abroad ; and she drew a ong breath of relief very soo^ afterward then she became aware that he had sailed. tCSt flower he had done what he could to bhSt . would be safer, it seemed to her, when an 3„ rolled Detween them Sh^ t,,^ k '^ silent about her seco'i leS^ ; etli'nrSS had quite enough to endure ^ithShe k;fowi tenderly on the thought of the care tharthe chdd must have exercfsed in writing her letter IJad she made plain Constance's share in he discovery, even a man of Mr. Emerson's effron ter:. would hardly have dared tTapp"o«hX' again^so soon. But what a loyal heartTt wt to suffer by itself, and refuse tJuse X nrme of another, even as a witness ! CoLtaJce St that shem^ust respect the youngerrmTn' t nity, and remam as silent as herself One* however, Alice had broken through her gentle reserve.- It was after she h^d Se quite strong, so that her mother deXed w^h :Cdf^'5^''pntolookandSulS -267 V — -:.:, Pauline, if- Skill " I want to talk to you just a little bit, Ellen. I know you love me and trust me ; but I have a feeling that I would like you to know th»t I have not been quite a fool. All that about being ' interested ' in me as a child, and about showing me only kind attentions that I had misunderstood, is simply false. He said every- thing to me that could be said, except the one sentence that I see plainly enough now ought to have been spoken before I allowed many of the others. But indeed, Ellen, I did not feel it at the time. I trusted him so utterly, that I had not a doubt but_^that he had the best of reasons for not being' able to speak to me for^ mallyjust yet. He could hardly make it more plain, I thought ; but I longed for the time when the formal words would prove to my mother what I believed I was sure of. After all, Ellen, I may as well take back that first sentence; I was a fool, I realize it as I try to explain my position. And I prided myself, too, on being different from many girls I know ; more careful, more sure of what was meant. I had abundant proof, I told myself, and could afford to wait for mere forms. Yet I might have known all the time that a man who could not trust such a mother as mine, even sufficiently to call upon me in my own home, was wrong in some way. It seems strange that it should be so plain to me now ! At the time I had not ^ JVew Burdt en. account of mother and ^IT/"- i^ "T*" ""'^'""s on I could have Scd a H «' ' ''"' ^°'" '"''"'f. him all the tLT 1' f "" ^^''^ ""d trusted '" that I beg' no see S cW ""' ^ S*-^" ^"^ people come%lose to d«th Fl. ^''^\ ^'>«" S5« right and wrong plainer I'"' ^^^^^' '^^^ t>me. And then -^XTT "" " *"y o'^er Christ I began'to be" e'tSrbl'""" /•""'' his and m ne, were wrnn„ "^ ""^ hves, didnotimagi;:L%"Se^°!rS^ "' '''\ I read your letter o Pii u- '~~""unti you have saved me ' i? "' """'' fr*"" *hat owe everything to ;ou." ""' '° ""= ^^« ^ She had forestalled everv effi,,* r ^ stance's to put a word into th^is't!) "• ^h '^°"- laid her hand with eentle ,>l V. ' *"^ *^«" with a backffronnH ^r S- P>y^"'ness, and yet woman's rpro„eewh^""^i:°^^'- '''« ^'-^ spoken, anj'at ?h 5 point f ' ^T^^ ^^^^ pst a moment dear blr '""^ •" " ^ait >sn't that I am'not ;illf„r. T 'P^^'^- ^' mother know all th,r.i^ ° ^'^^ y°" »nd replied to mv letter "he tV *\'^"ow--he exceedingly t^at n ^^^ . ^"''^ "^l^^ ^^^etted had misunyrs?ood%^J. ?";,^'''^dishness' I who seemed "Smself P^^"'","^' °^ » •"«" of a century o?de ^ha„ I I f u"'^' "^ «!"'««•• forgive himself if £^i ' ^''l^ ^^ <^°"'d never stilT suchTchild th,f "°' know that I was cniJd that mv mistake would 289 not m r Pauline. harm me, and a ereat deal more that was as felse as it was foolish, and that did not leave one little corner in his character for me to respect. It isn't that I am clinging to any shred of hope that keeps me silent, I simply can't talk about it. I want to put it all out of my life as soon and as far as I can. It isn't wrong, is it, for me not to want to go into detail, and tell even mother how it all was, and the reasons I had for trusting him so utterly ? " " No," said Constance, confidently; " it is right for you to do exactly as you think best about it, and tell as much or as little as you choose. Your mother can trust you, she always has. As for me, dear — " and then she had smiled upon the child and bent and kissed her, and spoken with an earnestness that Alice did not forget — "I am older than you, Alice, and I have been through a furnace heated seven times hotter than your own, but you have helped me to-night; it is right to put some things out of our lives as far as we can, and not think about them." Mrs. Bristow had had her hours of curiosity as well as anxiety, and had fled to Constance for solace. " I don't know how it is," she said one evening, half proudly, half complainingly, "but sometimes my Alice seems to me to be about a hundred years older than I am ! I ain't afraid of her, exactly. Why, an angel 290 ^ ^e^ Burden. from heaven couIdnV k- fhan she is to ^.-I^aZ^'^' ^""^ ''"'"bier lately as if \ wa, m,?. / '.* " «refuJ of me »^«id I'd get Joke K , °/ ''"''''' """^ ''''^^^"s -»yof shu^ttf„g°t'^"S'^'*'" "'"'^hehaTa " that that pup^Hoe^n't iri?" ' l' '' ''»'• ''°«' ^t nor send her an v nr« "^ '" ''«'• a"/ more 5°dowithher/"fSmVr>^*' »"y^W g h"" much, and now vou' n .1?" "'J'^'" *^"«ed "°;'"ng to look sobe^Jbo^! "r* ''"' ^''^^^ « J'ttle Alice, right here Lvh ^ "^ y^""- own "d I'm goinf to sSy w S. ^v^o ' "?' '^"« « «"" : then she Missel me, on m v r/ u ''''7^-" And and my eyes, and ai? n^ '''''' '"^ "y nose were a kitte'n playtglrme"^ '!,"' " '^ '"'e / know well enough th!t T' •''"'^ ,''«' ""ough «. J can't ask her Vwold ' f'' ' \'°' '"O" '« No," said Gonstrnc? t " ' "''*' 'l"^"'"? " ^m"le in her eyes hid ^ ""^' "''^o^gh the J-utif"I. It m/ant'd SVs""^ 3"^^^' ''« you have an unusual dau^L. A"''°*' ^^at t? be proud of her Sh^ ' ' '"'^ ''^^^ " "g^t g-rls who in theh- innocence T °! '^'^'^ ^^- Mi 11 r "^, -Sed '■ "'' P'^^*^ - . ^**"- onstow onlv half „ j ph pri «• Pauline. and felt that she could do justice to her " rights "; she was proud of her daughter. And Alice had been true to her words; she had neither faded nor moped. A trifle quieter she was, perhaps, less gay at least than she had been. "Growing older," she told the girls who noticed it, and commented to her face, " and a little more dignified, as becomes older people, ^at is all." But her mother was among the few who knew that it was by no means " all." The girl pew in .nany ways. Grew as those flowers grow whose secret roots have taken hold upon soil that has in it life-giving power. All together, Constance felt that she could look back upon another year of living and because of some results, say a solemn and heart- felt, " Thank God." , . , It was growing late for the hard-working people on their street. One after another they disappeared from porch and sidewalk, and lights twinkled in upper rooms for a little, then went out; and still Constance lingered in the door- way The night was so lovely and so cool, and to-morrow would be so breathless, probably. How could she shut out the beauty and the calm, and go to bed and sleep ? Mrs. Bristow was still in the kitchen ; something unusual must have C'curred to detain her for so long. Con- stance told herself that perhaps she oug.it to go 292 y4 New Burden. and see if she could be helpful. Then, sud- denly she uttere. an exclamation ; it might have been of dismay, or almost of terror, and went auite out to the steps, and watched with eyes that were lent keenness by her fears, the form of a woman moving slowly, and with an air that someway suggested stealthiness, along the deserted street. She was on the opposite side ot the street, and was going toward the river- a small woman in black clothes hat even by rnoonhght suggested shabbiness. Something i„ the form, in the movement, in the dress — wTiat was ir ? {something brought to Constance's heart a memory ; a vivid memory standing out like a great black boulder in the path of her past Her sun hat lay on the little table in the hall where she had tossed it when she came in wearily trom her evening's vigil ; she snatched at it, and closing the door behind her, went down the steps ; and scarce realizing what she did, and not knowing what she meant to do, took swift steps after t;^e small black figure. A few min- utes of rapid walking brought her in line with the woman on the opposite side ; and matching her pace to hers she walked on, observing her closely. Suddenly she crossed the street and came close behind the woman, who turned nervously, an apprehensive, frightened look in her eyes ; as one who wanted to shrink from observation, and yet felt sure that she had not 293 % Pauline. The eyes of the two women met, «nd Con-. •tttice spoke at once, low voiced, but dtaaxvcj^ " Pauline, what are you doing here ? " The other gave a faint little cry, born bothr; of surprise and terror. " How do you know my name? she aslcea, ' in a voice that was scarcely audible. ;^ " 1 know it because you told it to me, once, said Constance, stepping to her side as she spoke. "I never saw you but once, jut 1 could never forget you. You look even more as though you needed help than you did then. Where are you going, alone, at this time of night? Are you in trouble ? Can I help you ? For response the woman began to cry vio- lently. Not aloud, but a low sobbing cry, as though she had schooled herself for years to violent grief without much outward demon- stration. Constance tried to take her arm, but she shrank away. " Don't! " she said, and again there was that strange mixture of fierce woman and frightened child in her tones, that Constance had remem- bered; "I know you; you are that woman'. I haven't forgotten you, either; I never sha I. I ruined your lite, and did nothing for myself; You ought to hate me ! Go away, please, and let me alone; don't touch me! I can do nothing more to harm you; I won't harm anybody. I am going where I cant- 294 ^ 4 New Burden, beating outward Dunng this outburst Constance's heart seemed, to her to have stopped but she held firm control of he self. "Poor woman!" she said, "you are still wild with trouble; let me help you. Where are you going? Where is your little boy?" At the mention of her child the woman's bitter weeping began again ; her weak frame shook with tne violence of her grief, while, evidently under the force of habit, she tried to control herself so as to make no loud sounds Constance quietly possessed herself of the small hand that was startlingly cold, despite the warmth of the night, and d w it through her arm, while she repe.tpd her question. " Where IS your little boy ? " " I left him in a safe place," the woman said at last, trying to control her sobs sufficiently to speak «' It is so warm that it cannot hurt him. They will be sure to find him to-night when they get home ; or if not. the very ifrst thing in the morning. And he is so dear and sweet and beautiful that they can't help loving him. They will be sure to take care of him • they haven't any boy of their own, and I am going where I shall never trouble any of them- they can have him for their very own mv beautiful boy ! " ^ Constance dropped tht . m she had drawn 295 i 1 > I I ii ;!:! ! :■ PaulineJ \^ tlnough hers, and pktcbgVhier owiic£rin> »"d find h"m Oh ' he r!F L'T ''''^"^ "P *"d been afraid. Oh J he might have tried to follow me and been hurt! I did not think of that." She quickened her steps at the thought. tor breath as she went. Manifestly, she was din her t "7i"^ '^'t'^'^'/ P'-- ": ,7T T ^^ ^"'^ '^"""°y herself for his sake, lldL f-T^^T" '''" ^^ '"'ght waken an J A '^' '" t-^' '''""S^^ "P^" itself in an effort to get to him at once. stair. ^ Pfsed Mrs. Bristow's door, and Con-, stance looked at ,t with a strange feeJing. that • 299 I Pauline, % v'i- m ! . h •M' i' m I III." ' if stood for k refuge which had been hers, and which had slipped away from her. Lights were twinkling in the mother's room upstairs. They had weaned of waiting for her, and gone to their safe, quiet rest, and she was out in the night, wrestling with temptation and sin ! The city clock was tolling midnight when she reached that door again. She had a firm arm about a shrinking woman, and grasped by the hand a large-eyed, wondering little b&y. Mrs. Bristow's bell never rang with a more resolute peal than it did at that moment. In response, Mrs. Bristow's head appeared for a single second at the hall window, and then, very soon afterward, the bolt was slipped. "Pity's sake, child! have you got home at last ? \ knew they must be worse over at Car- ter's, when you stayed so ; I told Kate after I got to bed that I believed I ought to have run over there and seen if more help was needed. How is it? Can I do anything? Dear me! What's the matter ? " For Constance had arrested the voluble tongue that had begun before the bolt was fairly slipped, by gently pushing forward her charges into the hall, and she closed the street door before she replied. " I found an old acquaintance on the street, Mrs. Bristbw. She is homeless and in trouble. Mlty I put her and her little boy into my room 306 The Idol Crushed. . "Surdy!" said Mrs. Bristow.dl her heart "^'I'^f- :'"°'"«l«s,isshe PoorthiTe and the dear little boy ! A fatherless child ^I EirVll 1"' "^^ ;""e'-y. as likely as n^t S' A K- "S*"' down and warm «ome thWs." ^"^ """' '"'"' '"'I *'^"«^ -"d Her abounding hospitality was with diffi- culty held ,n check; and it was more than «, hour later, when Constance _ both of h" chn!?r !,"^'"^' u''" """^ "^^ '^^'''^hful rest of childhood the other the heavy sleep of over- taxed vuahty- felt at liberty L ste^l awa^ to t1^e littirr' '°°"i' .«"d dropping herself f„to the little sewing chair, clasp her fingers to her "''?' w f ''"V°"' "^^ ""' g'°«i"g moonHgh' and think. Could she think? Would her nerves that for hours had been under such ngid control obey her still, or must she ^ve way to passionate emotion of some sort ? She t"hem ra''" '^'"'V"'" ""'' ^-^' -d clasped nv^J^r rP^'"°" "^ ^S°"y' ^1^^" '^"'•"ed them moonlfah?''Tf'"' '■'" '°"'d not endure the ^^rrlllS J'^^^r'" moonlight memories Ifresh th« h^r- ^^' had just 1,een stabbed knewir V Tfu^"""^ °^ ^^' »f« 5 ^he knew It. She had been sure of it out thereon the streets when she had made herself sp«|k 301 I rufi II I: Pauline. \ quietly to that half-mad creature, and coifitrol her. All the time, all these years, she had steadied her heart upon one belief, never after those first awful hours allowing it to be shaken. Gordon Curtiss had believed that he made her his -wife; had believed that that other wife and her child were dead, and that he was free to put his sorrowful past away from him and begin life again. She had told herself that she knew this was so. Therefore when they had appeared to him that day as from a grave, and she had fled away to give him his chance, he had met the issue as a man who was true, and who meant at all cost to be true, would have to meet it; there was no other way. And he had gone on since, living his changed life as well as he could, living down the pain and the shame of it all, and snowing a gaping world that whatever he might have been in the past, he was a man now; one who had sinned, perhaps, and suffered, but who had be- gun ^ain, and was worthy to be trusted. This picture she iiad hung firmly in the gallery of her memory, and through the long months had looked upon no other. Continu- ally sloe had schooled herself to think of him 35 a married man who was living his honorable liferand finding a measure of peace in the honor of it. She had not known until this night how «he.- had hugged the picture to her heart. 302 The Iilol Crushed. fronted him. his wilTnd child - L t . k""' known at the first glance ttiiTchir^^t this ternble^ror^irne'^'/ftS d^Th?'' ni-ghthe not have known all thrtillL?;f' was speaking tender word. 7,. I I ^^* ''^ when he stood with her t Vh ' •°^" """" and in tones thT .(, ^f'^ marriage altar, . 303 r Pauline, into dust before her. There had been no honor, no truth to build upon. It was a very quiet woman who came to Mrs. Bristow next morning while her charges were still sleeping. The pallor of her face and the heavy rings under her eyes startled and shocked that eooa woman. " Pity's I sake ! " she said, " you look like death ! I don't believe you slept a wink. I knew you wouldn't ! If you had just let me fix up Alice's room for them — I could have done it ina jifFy — and t. .n you wouldn't have been upset. I can't sleep in a strange room myself; I declare, it's too bad ! And now I suppose they'll hinder you from gettinjr started for the country to-day, and you oughtn't to be in this heat another twenty-frur hours! Will they hinder you ? Who are they, any- way, and what are you going to do with them ? " Such easy questions to ask ! How were they to be answered ? ■' It is about that trip to the country that I want to talk," said Constance, ignoring the other questions. " 1 must give it up alto- gether, Mrs. Bristow. I have been thinking and planning half the night ; it was that which kept me awake. This woman is one who, for many, reasons, and especially for Christ's sake, I must help. She is quite alone in the world, 39* The Idol Crushed, SSfd--"'° '" l-en deserted by her "'ltw7't-"- '"rP°'««'l Mrs. Bristow th« street last night just at^he verge"of desper? "Dear, dear!" said Mrs. Bristow " A,.a' ^hatpr tty,hi,d ,„,. it is just a shTme ! tt 1 " ^ *i°'" ^S''^ Constance, quietly " It- .'« =li planned. The hardest 4rt l^that I j\ «»=mb.,. when I fi„, SST^^ ^-^y^ given up all idea ot it. Now I Vi!. / ca ecpnomy that I can earn enough to keen us BuT;h- ''*^^q"«« « little start, you Sow ^^t*''"--t,o„must.ofco.r;e!^be'^ 31^5 Pauline. " There's something else must be given up, too," said Mrs. Bristow, with her most deter- mined air. " Don't you go to talking about finding rooms ! It's a great big thing to try to do, and an awful responsibility, with a boy, too, to look after ! But then — if them that ought to shoulder the responsibility have shirked it, I don't see anything else but to pick it up, so long as it has tumbled right down at your feet. You used to know her when she was a girl, I s'pose? Well, there isn't one woman in a hundred would do such a thing, but then, you're that woman, and I reckon Susan Bris- tow is the one who can help you a little. It's all happening in just the nick of time. Don't you thmk, our dressmaker is going to get mar- ried ! Isn't that news ? I was just beat when she told me of it last night. I couldn't wait fjr a chance to tell you about i:; and then to think that it was all driven out cf my mind ! Well, it's in her mind, anyway. I hope she won't repent it. Dear, dear ! what a chance get- ting married is, to be sure ! They each think they've got the only good man in the world, too. She wants to go right off, next week. It seems it's real sudden ; that is, something has happened so that he can get married now, instead of waiting till next spring, as they had planned ; and man-like, he wants her to rush right off without any wedding dresses nor any- '306 The Idoi Crushed, suppose they have anv?n "; ^"' ^ don't I told her i/l could re^nThe'"^'' '"""7' «" There is nothing that un e^ u ^''"^ ^°"der. « night's rest. ^We 1^: " ' ''"'^^ '''^^ '""ing take^old and hein L l?"" >«' '« mf I like work first rat iV^" "'"''^ ''''"g to get hold of and In .""'"'"'""hing Kate and Mari n will ^"UT\ ^^""^ '° ^o^ having a child in the h''^ ? '^"^'^ °^" for tfiat matter h • i^'" ""'' ^'i«. too children." ""• '^' ' dreadfully fond of ^^-P.soL^S--^.;^aJt. 307 I ' I 'I- r#! j i Pauline. Mrs. Bristow wu for a time fully resolved that she would not "stir one step," but vigoroui argument prevailed. Constance assured her that it would really be the kind way for them all. Left alune with her charges, she could get them accustomed to their new surroundings, and to feeling a little bit at home before com- ing in contact with strangers. Besides, it would be much better for — And then Con- stance came to a distinct pause, and considered, and began again. " It will be better for Mrs. Cuitiss to have something to do from the very first. She has lud .m avy sorrow, and needs to have her thoughts occupied with necessary commonplaces, to keep her from brooding over her wrongs." " Mrs. Curtiss," repeated the elder woman curiously ; " Is that her name ? And you say her husband deserted her? Poor thing! " Constance hurried on. " If 1 am cjuite alone in the house, Mrs. Bristow, for a time, she will feel the need of rousing herself to help me, and in doing so, will help herself Besides, don't you know you promised Alice ? What will the dear girl think if her mother disap- points her ? " This was the argument which was potent. The mother had a feeling that no minor dis- appointments which could be averted ought to touch Alice's life ; she had borne enough. 308 The Idol Crushed girl ; I ncvcr'could abS llFl '^"^7'' ""y to excuse hi, doin« for A^i;'°"8h I tried there! 1 believe 1 Soth.r- "? "'''•^- «"' who not to tru^t TJ fk ■.""'""' '«^" h^r enough for mTto'brt'hif f„' T''- > turned out as it has • h,,f f .. V*''" " ''" hard blow to AlicV- I'm ^ *"/u"''' *" « forgive hi..as a Chris ia" hTulS t'' i T has made her suffer " ' ""^ **'''" ''« Constance, watching from th^H °' '*"= ""■• she caught it and f,v^ doorway, saw that that resf i J the couS 1 b°ef' 'T"'^' '''?'' fo-" to take up her newbSdtf " '^' '"'"^^ ^^-^ 309 i.. XXV. Economy and Cake, THERE are continual proofs all along our way, if our eyes were but trained to see them, of the wisdom and kind- ness of the Father in shading the future from our gaze. There were times during the re- mainder of that summer and the winter fol- lowing when Constance admitted to herself that, had she known all about the weight she was shouldering that August morning, she might have cried out that it was too heavy for her, and let it slip. The grown-up child who thus came under her care was certainly a charge sufficient to make strong hearts hesitate. Undisciplined she was in every sense of the word ; grown to womanhood in years, and a very child in judg- ment, or in patience. Hei- whims and her fancies, and above all, her tampers, were some- times more than it seemed that mortal patience could suffer. For that matter, they were. It was Divine patience that took up the burden 310 Economy and Caie. must have sunken "' ^°' ""« ^^e Prominent in the list? r.f came financial question t/ /"P?"^''"'^« three, and pay rent for ; ^^^P ''°"«^ ^"^ on the seJng. I have, I havo, indeed ! It is as^ as heaven that that name belongs to IT- but you see, I am afraid! There are ofh^r.*' whom it belongs, and some of Sem hate ^ .^ oh, I know they do ! They would kill m!77 they could, and I am afraidT" "^'^ '"" "^ '^ .Mll'^l"".'* "°"s«"se." Constance had said But the miserable little woman sank on the "Oh" r '''r^'^l^^ ''°''^-g »"d beg^ng Oh, you don't know, you don't know I tel vou! you weren't there. If youZ Oh And then Constance looked at her Ditifnll,, ««.™';?cr/.i./^5irdj\-^^^^^^^^^ 3^3 J^auline. h-\' II '■mi child, — "never mind, then; I will call you Pauline if you wish. And in turn you are to remember that I am Ellen — Ellen Stuart; that is my maiden name, and I am never to be called by any other." At this announcement Pauline had stopped crying, and had gazed at her in what seemed to be wide-eyed fright; and Constance, troubled lest the creature's reason was going, had soothed and petted her into quiet, and hushed her to sleep as she would have done for a sick child, and had resolved thereafter to let all petty mat- ters alone, and think of her charge as only an ill-treated child whom God had told her to care for in His stead. Mrs. Bristow almost furnished the little hall room. It astonished Constance even to laugh- ter to find how fertile the careful housekeeper was in discovering articles of furniture that had suddenly grown too large or too small for her own use. In truth, the younger woman had to watch and entreat, and sometimes to grow "stubborn" even to sternness, not to have the Bristow dining room and kitchen quite robbed of its conveniences for her sake. By the time the summer had waned, and Alice had returned again to her cchcol, and the world in general had taken on its after- summer attire and occupations, the curiously reconstructed home was in general working 3H Economy and Cake. order. But befnrp »i,- • planned t'hat the TZtr shouldt" ^t ordering of the meak ^^^ l "''^'^ '''e them ™ n«,™r, A ■ 'l" PfP""'™ of she learned S?„ fhe "I '!' f^"' ''« r;e;Xi^,^7^r-FP-'- »„,d jaj&o."er£ td-iiX'-Jr tempted her or ",f U / l ^""-eover, they did.Pfar torofSn fora'j'^T^'^'"^ °^ '^^^ :;;^,^a„„edasruSfeh;^^^^^^^^ her!:"'rdeclied"thrr''l,'^ T. P°'"'^d °« ^o little of eveth?n^\" S' 1^^^ ^fdered just as had actually S^TsUetto^^'St L"S ^'^ that she wanted such a little brnf """^'"an that her aunt who wol i °V''^*'" ' and bills," neJer ihiht of'lT'' n^"^^'".^ over fruit than she h5 given Sn" U^V""' stance remained firm I ! ' '^''^" ^on- said that if "h. ^T' J" '^''^^^ sarcastic, and not to US ,W r"'^""""'^ ^'^^^ ^''^y -ere day to day she Sh? TT '"'T'^'^^'i ^'^^ di4rentl7 If wf„ ^^'^T ^"""^ ""^naged Pauline, on such a fearfully small scale, she would better attend to it herself; she, Pauline, was not con- stituted so that she could. When she had money she spent it, and when she hadn't she went without. Those were the only ways she knew. Constance listened in astonishment. Here was a new phase of the child-woman's character, calling for patience in a direction thst she had not' expected. She gave" the matter some hours of careful thought, not without more figuring and a small sacrifice or two that she had held in abeyance, then very kindly and firmly laid down her laws. She admitted that Pauline had evidently not been accustomed to planning in a house in which people were poor. She had spent much of her life in boarding, and had not in any case known what it cost simply to live. She, Ellen, knew; she had ordered her uncle's house for him years ago, and understood what she was talking about, and knew also to a penny just what they had to depend upon. They would try not to starve, "Charlie has sometimes cried for bread, you told me," she said. " God helping us, he shall never cry for bread again ; but the cream, and the candies, and the luxuries generally, must be few and rare. I must do all the buying here- after, and I must plan what we may have to eat. Tiat is what I should have done in the first place, b( w-use of course I am the only one: who 316 Economy and Cake, tU that yousa/yo^'LT;-- '^"^ '""^ -'-'»" "^^:i:!j"cSt;:s:i:^^ir- -other f an angel, and was doTnV oh so m' f ^""'^ for her than she deserved Sh^ "u*" """"^ pushed out into the s^eet ,nH I .^''S''' '° ^«^ and if it were not for poor Ch r ' \ ''"^'' not care. And thu ^7 Charlie, she would make vegetable.! ,n 4 j^ • l ■' *"'^ ^''e could and plan^h?r K^K "^^'^P'' '^^^^^S' lesslf raw one day a„d hone7'"7°".^'' ''^P^ next. ^' '^ nopelessly burned the wh^'lTJoiinTT? ni'ir' r"- «-^-. that creature o2ht to h^Si'^'u' y^'^'^^^r and whatever oufht to Se " " l' ^^^ *«■•"". as a stone." ^ '*'' ?'?'"& ^''^' i* as cold Alice when she camVh ^ C''" '"xieties to «thatchild"-!S^SL^T °" ^""^"y «-eningB, just about starved td^e rfh"'''""r'^* at m„h* ,11 f. J " aeath. bhe comes home 'fagged out; she works later 317 than she Pauline. I ' 1 'M < \ i! \\\m used to, and she's been working all the week where they don't care whether or not there is anything left for the ' help ' to eat ; and that creature will have a slop of scorched soup for her that is just milk warm ; or a piece of warmed- over fish ; if there is one thing more than another that I can't abide, it is warmed-over fish ! Of course Ellen can't eat ; she's lost, I don't know how many pounds, already ; she'll be just a skeleton by spring. That creature don't know how to cook any more than my shoes know how to preach! I don't mean to stand this much longer ; I mean to do something." Before the holidays were upon them she had done it. " What do you know how to do, anyway ? " she had asked Pauline one day, when that " poor creature," which was Mrs. Bristow's commonest name for her, had been confiding the sorrows of her cut finger and burned wrist and heavy gems to what she hoped was a sympathetic ear. "You don't seem to me to be cut out for a cook, now that's a fact. I was wondering if there wasn't something you could do real well, and liked to do." "Indeed there is!" said Pauline, with ani- mation. " I don't believe anybody can make lovelier cake than I can ; I know how to make fifteen different kinds, and they are all just lovely ! I used to make my aunt's cake, always. 318 Economy and Cake. ti-ks r ough"yj7r~;f '.piece, and shJ more than th^atrsh^'thnt^hr'Sn^aff^w'"' have It made I HnnV l ' *"°'''l to Cake doesn't take m h ' •"'''y "°'' ^''" ^"^e- and sugarTnd ^tTg^s'''- J"" "^ ''"'« »>"«- expeSnLcJ^o^^eUrS r^" ^'''^ *''» only have it occasSr/.^f^ a"krd";f l' "^^ But there's lots nf fr.\^ ■ l- . °^ ^''^'t- have it all the time InH 7 ""' "'^ *''° 'l'* What if you a„J7Vhodd i^lT^r^- and surprise Ellen all to pieJes ? ^ Sunn'r''"' make some cake and T'll c-li -Tr ^"PPose you you could makrmi'ey" ouf^t'o^h ^"^''^ mea. and your eems anH l?\^u l° '"'''* y""' for you. How ZuM V rt''' l'""^'' ^°°'^ed J . ?"ould you like that ? " 319 '^ Pauline. sickLy, litde, good-for-nothing thing ! " she uid to herself, " I don't suppose you've got the strength to do housework, even if you had the gumption, which you haven't." Then she set her energies to work, with such success that by the dose of that same week Pauline, as pleased as a child with a new toy, slipped into Constance's astonished hand three silver dollars that she had earned. ."And piid for the eggs and the sugar snc' things, besides," she explained gleefully. " Mrs. Bristow stood over me like an old ogre, and made me weigh every grain I used." " Now, child," began Mrs. Bristow to Con- stance, when their charge and her little boy were safe in bed for the night, " it's time for you to listen to reason. Haven't I got eyes and a nose ? And can't I see how your hard- earned money is being put into the fire and the garbage pail ? '^he poor creature doesn't know now to cook, and you can't teach her. It ain't in her J and when it isn't in them, they can't leam^ But she can make wonderful cake. Mrs. Morris Wheelock most went into hysterics over it, and wimtssome more right away, and so does Mrs. Carter Wheelock, across the street from her: and what those two women want, every biessed woman on that square intends to have.,. Soil's as good as a settled route already. 320 Economy and Cake. tog. for you .v„/i.vt.ii' 'sr^r; businesslike. You can r,,„ 1 tnat we II be weplc for ^ • P*y ""^ i-eguar each cake, and I guess she does. It would have done you good to see what pleasure the poor thin^ strThJ'rn**:?"'' '■«"« •!." will ™- TL,r' look, .hmn., .„d p,|„ „^ ,.P' Constance l.ugho), wen while , Mam u of Mars shone ,n her eyes. le w„ bf „ ,„ i, stubborn, she assured the anxious plotter^ On the contrary, she was distinctly gLeS' S I'''"?''- "^^^ ^°«''y of tl'e one who had relieved of a great anxiety, for indeed, WtK-.ll 321^ Pauline, her care, they were running a little behind in expenses, so much food had been spoiled. Also, she had become aware that the burden laid on Pauline was too heavy, and had not known what could be done. 'if ■■!' J m 1 '' fij at 1 333 XXVI. ' Neighk was probably a grca er reHef . T^"^' ^' than she realized thach ° Constance be much away She Lh I ^^' ^rP^"^ '"°^' *''°' "°* help wasting; it's born in h 'r " " ■>"" ""^ Uther traits than this were also " K. • -. the poor wreck nf „, "'^'^'^ a'so born m rial disposition hid r^'"''°°''- "^r niercu- to her, tut 13e3t^an.'P' ''"''^.''" ••"''°" a woman like Mrs Bri f^ " ThV''''' P""''^'^ ^^a.tr"i-2t^^^^^rr: yieiciingtoherX^iht-feent^^ Pauline. m a merry child ; and perhaps within the next five minutes she would give way to an equally uncontrollable burst of grief, with apparently as trivial a cause as before. She alternately played with her boy as if she were even younger than he, and fretted at his mistakes and lapses in behavior as an irritable older sister might have done. Or on comparatively slight provo- cation.she would be fiercely angry with him, and administer punishment out of all proportion to the fault. On one of these occasions the pun- ishment was so severe that Mrs. Bristow, who was a woman of strong good sense, and who had resolved years before that happen what might, she would never interfere between other people and their children, broke her resolution, and sternly told the angry mother that if she struck her child again, she should be put in the other room and nave the door locked upon her. Then there followed such a passionate outburst of weeping, not from the child, but on the part of the child-mother, that her little boy ->ut away his sobs and camp over and patted ler face and caressed her hand, and said in tones of infinite tenderness, " Poor mamma, poor lit- tle mamma ! don't cry ! I will never be naughty any more." As usual, the crying was followed by cough- ing; a paroxysm so severe and prolonged tnat Mrs. Bristow ran hither and thither for restora- 324 I n( ^ ''Neighbor:' t>v?s and reliefs, and was in , f outburst of lauXpr * '^""''^ "«' ''elp an ties conne tedTiS, tl^'e"' ""'"^ °^ ""^ ^''^"^di- quiet of i,er locked ' °"?'r' ^"^ '" ^he • not laugh. nstead h^ ' ''"^ '^^^'- '^^ did tense lifes of p2„ ' m.l''""' "'^^ '^'•^*" '" ""trained, und£nli„e^ " ' """""^^ ^'^"^ ^he derthat-butt£eshe,!r"'5' ''/"^ ^°"- self not to droD Tn? ■ l°PP^'^ ^"^ told her- ^he wantedtToSt 1^'^ ^^^'-^^-ithat we° iS tr^ re^p^rit "^ '''T '^^^ ''^^ women had.^ The bov C?' i^* '^r" ^^ ^^der have been snoileri .» 7' i^^''^'^' '^ ^e could by ^hem hot ^:tS;';t,w£^^ been out to hm IVn m ^, /."^"^neartsgone childhood had ever r •''J' ^P^^-^en of There were tr.Z'lCTurTtl'^'^ , ''"^^^ tha' even Alice, her firJT '""^ admitted as good as Charhe Th'^M"' "^'^ "°' ''^'Xs that seemed to grow with hir*"^"'"^^'"*^' even strangers to him .^i- ^^"'' attracted 325 ^Uglgfg i .III Pauline, ! a power that would have been surprising in-<^e J so young, even though carefully trained by the ' wisest of parents, and under tiie circumstances • seemed nothing less than a marvel. " There must have been some good grand- mother, or maybe grandfather, that he copied in looks and disposition," Mrs. Bristow re- marked once, when the boy's unusual traits were being discussed. " He isn't one mite like his mother in anything, that's certain ; and it isn't likely that he is like his father — though siiice I have come to know that poor creature, I can't help thinking he might have had some excuse for slipping away, poor wretch ! I don't mean that, either, not a word of it. Any father who would go away and leave a child like Charlie to the care of — well, to the care of anybody, isn't fit to live on this earth." "He went away before Charlie was born," said Constance, quickly ; and in a moment she was sorry she had revealed even so much'. Why had she done it? Was it still sweet to her to hear some one try to find excuse for him ? But they did what they could, all of them^ to atone to Charlie for the trials of his short life. He was steadily loyal to his mother, and developed with each passing day a singularly protective air toward her, as if he instinctively recognised her need of being cared for, instead 326 ^ '' Neighbor:' of bestowing care; but his love for aJl the othe« was sm,„gly marked. Ali e Br stew their meeting, and he sought Kate and thL younger sister Marian as companions at terv opportunity ; still it was, after^^H.^ UnsS ^« he gave a chivalrous devotion that was as " V ^ fs 't was unusual. 'You'll be taken care of, anyhow" saiH t^/L ""r '° ^°"^^*"^«. ^ith a nod towa,^ he boy, who was in sight but not within hea^ take care of mamma, of course,' he said w th ^V P"^^ -. you fK,!! V ^ ''^^"' ^'■«- Bristow, Aunt Ellen shall have a carriage all her o;n,7ust S enough for two neople to ride in, and aCy J? no, two ponies, because she might wanf t7ao Stv' "^■"'^-^^oo; sfeifrSol? I hat boy IS gomg to make a man to be proud to taL-* clre 'of '' "^f" ')^ y°"'" '^-' ^Tm TO taice care of you after I'm gone" Constance could not answer a word She went over to Charlie, and putting her arm! «bout him. kissed him wit^h sufh clinSng 327 ^ * ' Eauline.^ %^ IWjkniw tlwt, as he retariwd . the .tSuws^he "Aunt Ellen, do you Jove, me more than ever to-day? So do I you; more and more everyday. Isn't it funny ? " But she could not speak ; this poor hunKry k»ncly heart! Woulcf ths boy be hers some «/' i^*^' "o one to come between them? Would he love her and protect her and be TRUE, everywhere and always? Was this to ■ All L* ^ * *° her out of the furnace? .All thmgs considered, the winter passed rap- idly ; and there was a degree of comfort in the home. Pauline, busy with her cake, as ever an artist with his paints and brushes, was almost Nppy While It was in preparation, and was cer- tjuflly a financial success. Pauline, who confessed t^at she had never cared for mone- merely as inoney, brought her gains each week 'to Con- Stance^ indifferent as to what became of them ; and there was now each week a little to put aside "for, a time of need," as Constance once v^ely expressed it, then exchanged appre- hensive^glances with Mrs. Bristow, and won- dered if Pauline had heard. Did she know yet, she who talked so carelessly about death often declaring that she wished she could die- did .she begin m the least to realize that her time here was growing short, and that they wcrs trying, these friends of hers, to put by 328 ^ ''Neighbor. »» and was fiUcdXi h pj L'lV''" ^^ *d not. »"• She had b«n E^l;,? V"'''"5"*«« '^ -d yet again, to" inTsrU^^rH^'^^-S'V''. she had heard those who we« h^l- ^T'" o earth say that because o7Ct'"fh^°*by sure they were going home h .1- ^^^"^ "'"* strange childish ^oln'^^.'/^^'jl-^e, this and her passionaf^ ^: r T u """' Ways. very littleTout that £•■«"' """"^^ ^^ Constance craved for ^.^."""^^^^^d life n-hich religion; and I'm s^'re L T understood now, and have troi.hl» u S'°°niy enough to hear of i' TS hT^''' *J-''^**"^ ''»-% >^hen the time comeTan/' '° '^"=. ^^ courtev have wished forT often «"°*^"/'f k«>*S. i -n't I be let alone ulSl^heT"^ M "^ ^^ "'ant any religion to live bv I K ' ^ ^'"'^ enough without it r hS' ''/'''^ '™"We once, who was very good She" ^^l ^''"" her religion every daf.nH i^ "."^ '''^^ ''^«» this son was sure to f^iln^'""* "P^'*"^* of stance's part tHeaS he Th '" V'^^" °" ^<"'- cJaims of Christ ,f^ I ^°"g''« toward the had a theiyTf ffowr'fir f^l?- «"««- wouJd say with a shJlrf I I ''"'r*'" ^^e "that that poor creah^T 1 "^ " <^on«ance, her mind thatTs torr^ .• ^*\S°' something on I've thought so a h" nH^ ^^^y '"^ "'ght. could onlf brng he«e,/l T^'- ^^^^^ straight, then I Lss she ' m " '^'" °"^ ^ent of her consSnce tn .'? ^" "'*' ^°"- else." °ns«ence to i.sten to something bufitt rower]l:ld''"?r F---« ^ watch and pray It ' ?1 T^^ "."^^ ^'''^ ""d realized, at lew to s^m ' ^°'" ''^•' ^^at she dous Ws in behalf of%r%"''r''« *••^'""- wasabletosetatworkbVJh' ^"^'^ "?""'" «h« instrument, prayer ^ ^^ "''' "'^ ""at one the''c:.;;;7',?7p-- »" loo^ng ^rward to Winter was^nusSry^evere'tT' 'Y '^' which served to mafcp th ^ prolonged, first breath of spring' "" """^^ ^'^^^ ^^^^^^ -kiey. TheTehaTnfL: 33.1 a I III Hvmg Pauline. ' and nurse. ^ ^^'^ ""^ both patient Consu°n°ce as"sC wa^'h^"' •°'^ 'f^' ^''^'^^^% tea table back L' heT'harg;^'"^ '^°'" ">« '4 Wait a minute K- . • creature, you know She ^ " '^'^'' *''« Poo^ - ile, if anybod^anf aVlVSt to ;?; * ««.1he thinks rm ^ntlr^^--' "" '^' You you rent rooms. an5 she „r'"n" f.'^^°"' resents my interference I T'^'fy. '''"d o^ "range; Lt this Ts„'t" thi t" ' ^"°«'.« « is Pauline. 'uplw a time, and that she must gnre ticrself «atircly to taking care of her charge. "Well, you won't do it," said Mrs. Brtstow, with firmness ; " not if you are the sensible woman I think you are. You need the money Tou are earning, of course ; and times are com- ing, pretty fast, I'm afraid, when we shall need a good deal. And it will be a good deal harder on you to stay at home than it will to be at work. iNow I should like to ask you right out plain and square, one question, and you won't think I'm meddling, will you ? Is this woman any of your kith and kin, or isn't she?" A flush of pain and shame crept slowly over Constance's face, but she answered steadily in the negative. " I thought as much. She is just a ' neigh- bor ' that ' fell among thieves,' isn't she? " Well, now, . 1 want to ask one question BMre. Ain't I a ' neighbor ' too ? What makes you think you've got to hold me at arm's length, and make me belong to .the ''imily of that worthless priest, or that miser- aole Levite, when I don't want to a bit ? " : " My dear Mrs. Bristow ! " said Constance, wondering, and compelled to laugh, "what can yoii mean ? Is there anything more that you could have done to prove how hearty and OBselfish and constant is ytnn- neighboriiness ? " 334 ^ ''Neighborr money, even for fhe boy f aL H "J" °''" hurry home earlier tLn/ou wlnf to°?or T liSef^'lJtn^y^itS-r;^^^ I'm going to be a Ir ""Z ^T^ ^° """"J «. after fhis.^ We're p^or \V^'T "'^'8^'^' so poor as that ' f ve ' i^ 7 '. *'"' *' "~'* both, and nil kTut^Ta°„teo"ti"^ '"'k-"^ shape, and let vo,, ,«, ""."f^op things ship- a litdc while." ^ ^ °" *"^ y^"*- "^^ for 335 ,r-v. J;.;; ;r^Vl .,rvV XXVII. Nune Watkins. /•Tn^HERE were very few time* indeed, . I , , duVing those years of Constance's life, J., when she released her self-control and gave way to tears. Her wound was too deep, too sore, for many tears ; but on rare occasions they came as a flood, and relieved the ten- sion for a little while. On this May evening, when heart and body were alike tired, she let Ker head droop on Mrs. Bristow's ample shoulder and gave the tears their way, — the motherly woman patting and soothing her 3uite as she, on rare occasions, had a chance to o for the manly boy Charlie. " There, there ! poor tired child ! don't cry. Mother didn't mean to be cross and scold ; she was only trying to show you that you mustn't b^ ^elfish and stubborn, and do all the ' neigh- boring;! yourself. Yes, you may cry if you wknt to. -J guess it will rest you. A real downi^Ht- <:jry once in a while, especially when folki are young, helps amazingly. You see yoii don't give the tears half % chance; you 33$ Nurse Watkins. ^t::;l^^ "p ''»« - your hc^ „„.-! " tears. She Ssscd °C' E""' "'"" *«' «g?'n. lingcringly, tender y asT °^^^^•"d vo.cc t at was^^,, notTr' C'^^'!* J" » 'ne.gt^foX-4;'»;;f- ?^^'"> been. I can aLnf^'. ^°''*' '^an we have you give. lnr&"bEryo'u'"fS ^^ '^'^ " have been and are to me " ^ °' "" ""*' ^ou Wt tte;?; Twalr'''' ''.? -» j-s that they realized on "°i ""''' afterward' ine's ^ri:^^:tS.TZ l5rs1'> ^t' surmised, she took kindiv toT "'^""^ '""' even to the giving udo Am P'-J''''"'' "«J her boy. Itfeemfd fatu^ S^Ko'l!'^ '"^^"^ upon, and her extn^m- r ui "'^ be waited n.Wd legitimate exc^eshr' ""="'"'5' ^- trouble tfan she had J'l ^'"^ '""'^h Jess herself, and would tfo^r""^P""e ^° "^«« state, staring appareLtIv .^ " '" "" "P^hctic her own tfouXr >l ^P='«'«"d tSirtking must chiefly hafe been f 7 '^""^''^^ 'hev and at times Z li^t'I ^f^'^ was^sa^i hard. Too often h! ^^"I'^her mouth were specti6„ endt i.^''3-°J of «,„, i„^«, ■ seemed to be as muT'°;"l°"'^"'-«i that much of 337 anger as of grief; Pauline. B«t;Mrs. :Bri3tow was learning to manage her charge, and treated her at all times now, not as a naughty, but as a tired child, who had had a great deal to trouble her, and needed to be nested and petted. By the time Constance teturned at night the outbursts had generally spent themaelves, and comparative calm reigned. The shrewd woman "at the helm" having noth- ing more to gain by detailing experiences, kept their trials as much as possible to herself, and gave Constance what rest she could. But this state of things was not to last. As the season advanced, and the early, fitful days of May settled into steady balminess, and June was at the door, their patient, instead of improv- ing, grew daily weaker. The doctor who had been "looking in occasionally" for several weeks, warned Mrs. Bristow one morning that if her lodger had any friends to be summoned, it ought to be done soon ; she was liable to "slip away now," at any time. The news took Constance unawaresat last ; she had not realized that the "slipping away" would be so soon. She gave up all outside engagements at once, and remained with her charge. The need for constant attendance made this necessary, but there was also another reason. Pauline began to clmg to her in a pitiful way, to cry feebly if she left the room for ever so short an absence. And yet, with strange contradiction, there were Nurse Watkins. go away -go RX't^ -T"'^ ^^^ ''" ^o where she fouS „o/k"" ^'^%''^ '^^ "-oom, only to calftr Z.^tl^T.^'^ t ''^'^•■ soon as this was done PuzzS ^nH ^'""^ ^^ and worn, Constanre !► ^"^zied, and worried, to do or think ' '"""'' ''"^^ "Of what -Th7air[:s?,:^j,t-„^^^^^ ness. Bv degrees h°hn X. "'"''"'"'= ^^'^k- continual effifrtrto''^,J^re"v" and "' ''^' T^ until both nurses were Sng" hvT 1l' ''"' out, and Alice on h^, Matting physically worn dayxvening v;,Sd 'h, r'"^°'"'"^ °"' ^"■ hearts, that help must h "^''j '" "^^'^ °wn > "^ "^^'P "lust be secured Tk» _ • l bors were constant in their^ff c . "^'g'^" but they were ail noor ,n 1 K^ ' °^ assistance, ing their da,r's eaE ' ^.^^f^orking; „eed- " Yes," s id Consgnc'e in'^r T^'^' ''''■ urgings, " we muV^ hT ' '^P'^ ^o Alice's hofdint bacTaTrng^pos" ibi:- «„' ''"^^ *'-? the exDense • K„f , possioie, on account of rest; and she cannot"b'"°"^""' 'J '^^"' ■""« while I am done " P"''"''^^'' ^° 'lo so get that I am earnina\^ ' '^" ' ^ou for- -'k with the d^or^ab^o JTSn hT" ^''^ to-night?" nen he comes 339 Pauline. But it came to pass that help of just the kind needed was not to be had on the moment, and they reached the late afternoon of an un- usually warm and unusually trying day with the prospect of a hard night before them, and only themselves to depend upon. Earlier in the day Constance had escaped for a few min- utes and gone to see a woman of whom she had thought, in the hope of securing her help, only to find that she was herself ill, and in need of care. "I met a very wholesome and attractive- looking young woman on the way home," Constance said to Mrs. Bristow. "She seemed attracted to me, too ; at least, she looked hard at me, and gave me the impression that I had seen her before somewhere. I was tempted to stop her, stranger though she was, and ask if she knew of any unemployed nurse. She turned, after a few minutes, and walked back this way, and certainly seemed interested in me. she must be a woman whom I have met at some of the houses." The door bell rang often that afternoon ; the neighbors were very sympathttic and solici- tous. Mrs. Bristow stood in the doorway with one of them when a trim young woman passed, walking very slowly. Mrs. Bristow's voice was clear and distinct, and this was what she was saymg : — 340 ^urse fVatkins, the night for her " °" ^'" °"*' ^ dread the'iadng Vhrfhrrr '''' '^^PP*^'^ ^° '- out of order. A few T '^'""^'^ '° ''"^e got swers involving the rroSon'^^rl'i""' ''"^ an- nate, an earnestly eSe in ""■ ^''- ^"'•""''' of the neiehbor fLr'L ^,""''' °n the part the assuSe th I h^'Vo^'l?-''^ ""''"• ^"" her baby wasn't sckanM'^-'" " '"'""f'^' '■<■ ft was perhaps ten 'min. ' '^r^'^'^ ^"^ed. rang again. ^ '^'""^^ before the bell on'h^r'VS:;."^!^'^- «"■--. -bo was bell had twe?trL/ues JoT''^-''''"'^^''" bad gresteVhtS^C;?rdr^ose shoe '• I btd^hT;'o?hTd'S: "^^^ "-^'^ been looking for helt, if '"•f'^' *"d bad be of use >. I'ma nur;. °"'^'' '^ ^ <^°"'dn't from my last cTse Tn'b? ."i' '"'^ J"^' ''^'^^ •n and heb if vn.. f'"'^ ^° ^ome right i^there ist^^h^ Tl^^ -- one a^ni lieveTh fsTp" '? '^^^^ B"''tow. «I be- that's a faS y™/'- '"'^ ^^ ^o n«d hdp tact. You just let me call Ellen St!f-' 34 J Pfl. i, M I! '-'I -Pauline, ^^^ aft4 I shouldn't wonder if she^ would be^ghd enough to have you stay, this very night^^ if - you can. She needs rest about as bad as any- body ever did in this world." Constance might herself have been a nurse, judging from htr general appearance. Her dress V( as black, but she wore a white apron that completely covered it, and her hair was brushed plaihly back from a face that was pale and showed traces of much loss of sleep. In all respects she looked as unlike the Constance of the past as outward circumstances could make her. She instantly recognized the trim young woman as the one who had attracted her earlier in the day, and telegraphed this tact to' Mrs. Bristow, who left Kate with the sleepin; patient, while she came to add her word, " necessary, to the securing of immediate help. " I don't care if she charges forty dollars a week," she had murmured to Kate. "I like her looks, and I believe we ought to have her. She won't be needed long." But it chanced that terms and references were eminently satisfactory, and the nurse ex- pressed her willingness to taVe charge that nightr " I have a very important errand that must be done right away, ma'am," she explained. " I'll go right out now and do it, and then I'll fet , my bag and come back here for the night; t won't take me an hour." 342 I Nurse: Watkins, rfiJJ^L?""'"!' promptly offered her y«un«at dwghter-s services for the errand andTegJ '^'^:zz^z^ '" ^'" ^^ — -^ shi'/r «so'"r,f k' y°"^ ^'^^ and nunU^." sne sa d, so 1 11 be sure to make no mistake and 1 11 get round here again before you kSS a nt^ -I"" ''P°''^?'"= produced from her pocket a pencil and a shp o/ paper, and wrote tt^ad^ tt^hrdt'rT?'"^^"^" '^''" Mrs?Brrstow watched her takmg businesslike strides toward afth'T'.'"' .""'^ ^^'^ "* «^a"g« lettinTup opprt^^^^^^^ "It's queer how you trust some folks, even elf '-Tkr^T'"^''^ "'"'•"'-^d to hTr- j T ■ '^""^ *''*' woman will come ba. - t\"rtuVhr."'^'" ^^ ^ '''"-g- iSSit^ii her?elf^=,r,''^°'' •'*" '^ "^^ nurse presented mTn u' '^'f "" te'egraph office, and a few minutes thereafter there clicked over the w'eT a message addressed to Mr. Charles Gordon Curtiss, which read as follows : ~ thi'o' ^^""^ *° *''•' "■■"* '"''* number signed to "DiLSKir," 343 - JBy j;^n« pf the dock; th»t evening, ^M^s. ^rt^totw's house had settled into quiet. Xoinr; Btuice in her own room was sleeping the sleep: of one exhausted and relieved from responsi- bility. Mrs. Bristow was snoring comfortably in her room, with little Charlie on a cot beside her; And in the sick-room Nurse Watkins sat erect and watchful by the bedside of a sleep- ing woman whose name she knew was Pauline. During the next four days, that household learned to bless the name of Nurse Watkins. I? Ah, yes," tj^e doctor had said, when Mrs. Bristow described her, " I know Nurse Wat- kins ; she was with a patient of mine over on Spring Street, and proved herself a treasure.. She went to the country with a sick woman, and I did not know she had returned. She isn't what is called a professional nurse, but for some cases she is even better. I do not know of any one who could meet your needs here so well as she can. I'm very glad you found her." "The Lord found her," said Mrs. Bristow, reverently, '^and sent her to us, I believe." As the days passed, she grew sure of it. Paul- inijiilso took to the new attendant; wanted her ministrations, liked to be left alone with her, and never shrank from her, as she still had at times a strange wild way of doing with Constance. 344 : r Okt wakefiil night thev talt*,4 * t. -. 8«cfc woman and Nuwe Ww* *°8«*er;Ae talked ! The nurs^lL^T^c''' ' .^^^^■'^ has been, oh, so goL to 1,T rt "'*^- «»*« and I cannot' havf S;r LS L w""* ^8'' ' have her by me to the enH n T**" ^ •»U« I must. Nu«e I Tnn . ^?" ^yo» l^now holding my hand- fn?. ' -"^ *"*'°»* her little Ihilef And ' u 1" 'V^^^ '""'^ « „g , .. ^"'i you know she would hate you just tie same si; h.f ^°»W *t»y by and Tt is lovinTthe I n!^ r''"^' *° th* L6r(C ' him all the ile fK.T •^""''' "nd copying, you; she wilSy^be "d":'' her g^^^. won't get any peace or i? ^u-^""' and yott till you tell herwh!^ ^'"'yth'ng butaf^d, Num WatkinsLd ,lrn;diow ^'^^ ''"^*"«- forayed a great deal duTng ihn.P'"^' ^^ P-d those S.^,it Jl-^th.^ I ; .-.: Fauiine*. i^/. Watkim took sole commiuid and ordered . the two. other women to their beds. ., " I'm used to it," she woald say cheerfully. " I can sleep standing up, in the daytime, when«' ', ever there's chances ; but you need your rest sa as-to be fresh for to-morrow. This dear lady- wants to talk to you to-morrow; she has got something special that she wants to tell you." And thin Pauline would wail out, " Oh no. Nurse, don't say that ! I can't ! " And then the cool quiet hand of the nurse would come- about her head and smooth back the rumpled hair, and rearrange the tossed pillows, and her voice would murmur low : " You will be a little '. stronger by and by, and God will help yon to- do what is right. He loves you, and is waiting ' to ove you every bit of help you need." On the fourth afternoon following the nurse's coming, Constance did not leave the sick-room for a moment. The nurse had warned her that the end was drawing near. " I don't think she'll get through the night, ma'am. She may, but I don't think it. I ihould not be surprised if she went out with the day. If I were you, I would stay close by her, aiid encourage her to talk ; it can't hurt her now, and I think it will help her. I don't believe she can die in peace until she tells you some things that she ought to have told long ago." 346 Nurse PTatkins, &Tl ^'"" ""^ ''--•^ » nurs'r.d1cd Sa l"' '""''""' *''« •>" talked to mc and know, If they take ta them at all : and th-r^ Z. '^;."^K "^^ 7°" ""g*" ^° know.' I will s! peLe Shi r ' l-T''" " t"'*^'"]^ *»" b^^k from peace. She could rest herself on tht Lord fore because she knows she isn't doing right So for her sake, you see, ma'am. She^tK £"trf n ^^T'' ""'' ''"' but IVe told iSk to voiVf '''"V"'^ ^ really think she will ised me. And you won't mind my being in t„MT'"V"'*>- '■°' ^f"^ ''^ys that I Lst 8.^ a„dV'"'*l ^^""^^ "''«= " ^'^ ^Wld, you see, and has taken a notion." ^ 347 XXVIII. "^/ Lattr ONE other direction Nurse Watkins ' gave ; this time to Mrs. Bristow. ;«„«,. . "^'"«pectingacail,nia'am,avery important one, and 1 must see the man myself 1 feel pretty sure he can get here to-day, «nd I want to know, if it sFouId be so tha Z^rMW ' u""" '^J' '^°°'' '" ^ "" see him indeed 1 11 explain ,t all to you afterward, but L tttrld"' '"'^ "''''•= '•''°" " '"'' "-• }„^"- ?;;'"°\P'"T««d '•~dily, unquestion- "igly. Her thoughts were busy with the comme of that ot^er silent guest into her household; besides, she had learned even in so short a time to do Nurse Watkins's bidding ^ And so they waited. The sick woman wm 2^r"«£ i '*''y' 'i"'"'^'' '•"»" "•'« '''d ever been. She «^ept much, and grew steadily weaker Once^or twice the watchers bending over her ttiought that the breath had stopped, but Nurse 34«. i< ^t Last. »» that 1 1 •• * '^^ ' "'°'""' • 1^°"'' you know words'";:^ h'at b'e^''' one. interrupting her won't you, even afte St^^ IV'"''^ """"'*' can ? " ^'^*= yo" sure you 349 Pauline. . I room wu very still; but there was a litde, a very little, stir in the hall. There had been a step on the stairs that Nurse Watkins had heard. She had her eyes on the doorway. Kate Bristow telegraphed them, and Nurse Watkins shook her head; she could not stir from her post; her fingers were watching the pulse of the -dying. Then she, too, sent a tele- gram wit|i her eyes to a man, a stranger, who stood very near the door ; he was to wait there. Suddenly the dying woman broke the silence, her words clear and almost loud, as though she had summoned all her powers for one last effort. " He was the wrong man." The great thuds that Constance's heart was giving, it seemed to her, must be heard by every one present, but she steadied her voice to utmost quiet and gentleness. " Do you mean, dear, that you want me to know that you are not Mrs. Curtiss ? " " No ! " said the dying, her voice fairly filling the room. "Not that! I am Mrs. Curtiss — Mrs. Charles Gordon Curtiss — God knows that that is true; and Nurse knows it; but — it vjasn't your husband! I saw him that day; he didn't sec me ; I saw what an awful mistake I had made, and I ran away ! I thought you would come back to him, that day, and every- thing would be right except for Charlie and me. 2,5^ "^/ Lastr rn„M I- 'i '''" •'"•' ' ^"'" t know how we could ivc with(i,it '11 „^ I I . stopped Cold drop's had galerc? onX forehead, and her cold hand that Constant held was trembling. »>-onstance " Don't try to tell me any more, dear vo„ fc "°' '"■^"eth, and there fs no^Ud 'S3 loves you, and forgives you, and will rive vou rest forever. Think of ^im, now; think of'^^he ^„7gi^f' "g J«"s. and rest in His Jiength And Paulme, I will take care of Chariie fn^ you as o„g as I live, and love him fo^'yo:"^ iit'h'you..^.'""*^ "P '" '^"^''^ --«= '^'^y -d ^' She never forgot the look of love that ov«. ^S nsVt^r '"'=• '"/ ■' -" ^^^^ watkms that those great solemn eyes turntd a Pauline, '^ W look as her voice gathered strength for oite «ar.wd "Ins true. Nurse, what you S«d* the Lord Jesus is good. I can trust Him." 1 he room grew very still. The sun dropped low, and lower, and sank away; the soft sum- mer twihght creot up and began to fill the air. Outside in the )iall the stranger waited. He n«*''''-^ ' "God in ini^r^:^l^J^.^- "ponged, sinning, sufferin'g. "or Jwing 'repS' ^^Jat'fiSLijtrfS ft^:pS?l^~--S thev ZnlJ'":'"? 'y" ^"^ ^^«=" °" th« dying. the^hS Th^ ""' T"*'"* ^"d reached'^S ttiLig':tei;^S;/^Tht" ^.- soHlwa. beyond all dange;r^of^!;;S^^ of ?e'ath""'Th?]^' T- "^""'l' 'r '^^ ?«•«««* WatSns' had metldTee^' '^^^''^ N""'^- Jjhenshe hads^od wl'hS; bji ^fc? 'The breath has stopped." Now kftftrl^ r^m, shesaid. low toned, again for '^^^•^- 353 '■WTv— Pauline. ^ "It is over." - ♦-., r>r Insuntly he bent and took Constance Goi* tiss in his arms, and said : — " My wife, my darling ! At last!" .;' Two days afterward they went home ; Mr. and Mrs. Curtiss, and little Charlie, holding dose by the hand Nurse Watkins, whose spe- cial charge he had already become. For Nurse Watkins had suddenly lost her interest in hos- pitals, and hotels, and boarding-houses, and a roving life generally, and was quite ready to go " home." She was more than ready to prom- ise to "live and move and have her beinp"^ hereafter, for Charlie's sake. " You see, I've lived for them so long," she explained to the bewildered Mrs. Brrstow, who warned to hear volumes from this well-informed woman's lips ; " I've had them on my mind day and night, as you may say, for such a great while, that I don't know as I could set myself to really doing anything that wKinld keep me frcm thinking about them. The housework, and the mending, and the nursing.and one thing and aiiother, that I've appeared to be doing all this time, were only kind of wedges, doit't you see, to get me in where I wanted to be, for the rake of my real work. And now that that's doae, at last, I feel kind of lost ; or I would, if it wasn't for Charlie. I'm real glad he takes 354 "-4R^iaJPi/^» to me, and wants me aloni? wifK ti«. -« ,.u Where have I been?' Dear me " A« over the world, .you may say. Termed ^ okn^t; T' ""'r' -^ "'^'*-''ay that iSTnv Swat ThJ ''T"^? "n '''« ^- f'« to2 Tl^JinJ^. "."^ ''''"el was bound and daermmed to do was to find >«- • and F thought when I began thatit woS be ej work enough, but before I got half i^r«Lh { h£ }&''-' '' -P- '- those deS';.; ^"-^'^^' t''^ w«y I came on her track at last w«^^ust one of those Utde happTnh^ £ S^rLldenT""!!"^ ^"'''^ foJks don-XieVe W„H Ik!^- ^"'^ P'^y^' ''"d thwgs of that TH td^^^ J"'' g°' '" ^'•^'"•the country Xi M Wo nurse a woman^through a ^^^T7Z -^n out there,- fo .155 sccif Jr«ouJa Pauline. rfl be of any help, as a nurse, you know. They were glad enough to get help, and I stayed and nursed her through. She was ' Mrs. Curtiss,' all right, but not my Mrs. Curtiss, I can tell you ; wasn't a mite like her. Still, don't you know, I kept thinking that maybe, being the same name, she was connected with the family in some way, and might know something about things. It took me a week or two to make sure that she hadn't a thing to do with our Cur- tisses in anyway, and I kind of chafed over the time I was wasting there; but she was an awful sick woman, and it didn't seem right to leave them, especially as they got to depending on me, so I stayed and saw her through. Stayed a whole week after I had said that 1 had got to go, because they felt so bad about it that I couldn't, somehow, get away. Now, see how things work ; if I had come away a day earlier, I suppose I should have missed her I That very morning that I came in from the country, I followed a little scamp of a boy away out to this neighborhood, before I went to my rooms, or anywhere, because he said he had a grown- up sister Pauline who was dying of starvation ! She wasn't dying at all ; and for that matter, he hadn't any sister, anyway. The fact is, there wasn't a word of truth in any of his stories, and just as I was turning away, feeling mad, I came face to face with her ! " ''At Last, »» "With Mrs. Curtiss, ma'am, Mrs. Charles family ,n our c.ty, and the most respected the Curnsses do Yes, I came face to face with her, right there in the street, and knew her ,n an mstant, for ail she was in a kind of disguise, as you may say. IVe got something about me that won't let me forget a face, aJd I knew I should remember L face, any ,n™ K . ^\ ^°""»g out of a house three squares below here on the right-hand side-" tow ^..'■'•^^"'^ house," murmured Mrs. Bris- tow She went over there to see if she could get help; and to thmk that I begged her to ie^tTdfbit"-'''"'''"^"'''^^^^'^''^--"'' "There!" said Nurse Watkins, in trium- phant answer to this, "see how things work i a^d h Tr^ ^ ^f''^'^ her to th,^ house; and then I hung about, keeping watch of it so that no one could go in or out without mv next ;],i"' ""t ''^T^ '" P'^" "hat to do next that wouldn't look too queer, and so spo.1 everythmg. I tried to ge^on.; word a" whKV r^'' '"^ ' ^"^'''' d^ided just what to do, when you came to the door your- self and helped me out. You talked about 357 ¥^/; /«K>»» VW«fi^ Output « 1i««g so' sfla^V *«F4h»ltfi I coiiMW* see^Kow sfi«! cduM be^ walllMfe tdi sfcreeft* iind yrt bt^Hke wRat yo-uvw* 'tellings tfcJnks Fto myselfvany kind of siekfle9»-gi«%s me fc^Aance; So '!• waited lift yoo^gbt 1i«ai in the house, and then a neighbor came home, and I asked some questions, and found you had been looking for help ; that made the way clear enough, and I just rang the bell and sailed in. lAnd if anybody can go through all that I have, and not believe in Providence that plans things for you, then I think it shows that they were born an idiot ! " When Nurse Watkins was much excited, her grammar was inclined to grow a trifle mixed. " I think as much ! " declared Mrs. Bristow, who lived during those two days in such a continual maze of bewilderment that, to use her own expression, she felt sometimes as though she were " walking on her head." " You could have knocked me down with a feather ! " she aflirmed, " when that splendid- looking stranger put his arms around Ellen and called her his wife : You see, I thought all the time that he was waiting for you to come and help save somebody's life, and that he meant to snatch you away the minute that poor soul was gone, i never once thought of his knowing Elicn." *^At Lastr f{^-^new Mrt. Curtiss, ma'am, of coune » second his eyes rested on her, in spite o/ i ... *• s«cona his eyes rested on her, in spite of S k'Tu **'"'• '*''•'='' ^""'t much like what sa^had been used to, I can tell you. You OB^t. tO; have sees her when she waa a bride I " 359 XXIX. Home. IN sufch ways did Nurse Watkins do what she could to keep the dignity of Mrs. Charles Gordon Curtiss before the be- wildered minds of her auditors. Mrs. Bris- tow, however, after the first shock of amaze- ment had passed, was generally able to aid and abet her. In truth, she rolled on her tongue as sweet morsels. Nurse Watkins's scraps of knowledge that witnessed to the future magnificence of her dear Ellen. Espe- cially did she delight in talking it all over afterward, when her eyes had been still more widely opened. And in skilful ways known to herself, she managed that Mrs. Emerson and, above all, Mr. Henry Emerson, should have abundant knowledge in these directions. Some of her items were after this manner : — " Yes, of course he is Charles Gordon Cur- tiss the lawyer. There was never but one black sheep in all that family, they say, and he was the one who made all the trouble, poor wretch ! But this one belongs to the great law 3^ 4on't need 7worr? X t*^"^''' •»»< f« «!»n't do enb^rf, .' .r'^^. .'""**'*«. '^"W 'Re Bu then Xn 'r **^^''; weall'lttowmt. and that C'i"fr,"f ^^ '^'.^''«'^«"ihi?£ Prls too. fortKarm,^, .1"'.^"'' *« y«««'^r Ideny gjris too, advantagi i^d Mrs Ptuttmt, lii M WH«nil%ie«ijt» to aiakfe known 4»*ii>r6ii«r- society estmate in which her friendr'bm' hwct^'^'v: :■••■ ;,; ....,.^.... .:_;■:• . PMifioe went homer too r travelling in «ate in-het 4ilver<4>oun(l Mtin^Kned houae thst-aud on iti^nMuive plate r-w ; ii^ -,; ; i; - .Tt , «»R(ittl3iii,JWw« 6f Chadu* Gpwxw Ctmna M Aged twentf-five ^ean.'* . .,3.;.; Shp had her fights at last. The Curtiss honors foi" ia